


The British Variation

by Lebarfleuri



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Lots of Angst, Mental Health Awareness, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, contemporary ballet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebarfleuri/pseuds/Lebarfleuri
Summary: “You are out of your goddamn mind.”“You’re not being sensible about this, Poe.”Poe rubbed his temples resignedly. Things between Finn and him were still relatively new, so in order to let him down gently, he hesitated speaking the blatant truth out loud. Ben Solo was never going to audition a stripper for his company.Up-and-coming choreographer Benjamin Solo has his life turned upside down by a troubled dancer with a mysterious past. A modern Reylo AU set in the world of contemporary ballet.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Comments: 46
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

“You are out of your goddamn mind.”

“You’re not being sensible about this, Poe.”

Poe Dameron was nothing if not sensible. He had once been an ethnical and later sexual minority enrolled in an expensive prep school on a poorly disguised diversity quota. He had had to develop a good ounce of common sense to survive those years. 

“Get involved in sports,” his councilors had told him. Being good at polo or rowing would have probably helped, in hindsight, but he had never been one to conform. He took up classical ballet instead. 

Then he went to Juilliard on full scholarship and was drawn to contemporary dance, grew a beard and co-founded The Resistance, branded as the most culturally inclusive, diverse and rule-breaking contemporary ballet company in the States. 

The critical response had been overwhelming. They were regarded as “a beacon of innovation”, their “awe-inspiring and transcendental” performances “blurring the lines between movement, space and time”. Five years later, they had toured 5 continents, had performed at some of the most prestigious dance festivals in the world and had been nominated for roughly every major award in the field, scoring more than one unexpected win.

“Finn, he’s going to blow an aneurysm.”

The “he” in question was Poe’s partner. He went by Ben Solo again. They had met at Juilliard twelve years earlier, Poe being one year his senior, and had clicked over their somewhat common artistic vision and passion for planes. It had been an easy friendship, Ben being utterly blind about stereotypes despite the affluence of his family and Poe never asking questions about the headlines everyone read.

Senator Organa-Solo had been Speaker of the House when the hat dropped. Poe was on his first tour with the American Ballet Theatre after graduating and they were speaking less and less but each time Ben seemed more distant, more on edge, unhappier. Then one day, Poe read on Twitter that Speaker Organa-Solo’s son had left Juilliard in a rage after thrashing a rehearsal studio, going on to become principal dancer in the FO Ballet Company, under the tutelage of Leonard Snoke, whose critical acclaim was surpassed only by the rumors of his despotic methods, discriminatory casting and psychological abuse he brought upon his dancers. 

He never answered Poe’s calls, changed his name to Kylo Ren, as if to wedge a deeper rift between him and his parents, and skyrocketed to stardom. Poe had somewhat melancholically rejoiced in his success, but as the years passed could not help noticing the circles that were deepening under his former friend’s eyes with every talk-show appearance, the hollowness in his cheeks on magazine covers, the glassy look he sported in tabloid snapshots. Kylo Ren was not well.

Then one night, before the headlines broke, the call came. The rest was history.

“He won’t if he sees her” Finn pushed. “I am telling you, Poe, it is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’m taking you over tonight.”

Poe rubbed his temples resignedly. Things between Finn and him were still relatively new, so in order to let him down gently, he hesitated speaking the blatant truth out loud. Ben Solo was never going to audition a stripper for his company.


	2. Chapter 2

Rey sighed, picked up the rest of her clothes and went backstage. She wasn’t particularly fond of undressing in front of a crowd but then again she had always been more interested in being alive and moderately well fed than some internal moral compass. 

She was making her way towards the cramped dressing room when Teedo called her to his office. She despised the sickening manager and generally tried to keep to herself as much as she could at the bar. There were two men with him, both rather handsome, one with a smug grin plastered all over his face, the other wide-eyed and seemingly at a loss for words.

“I’ll leave you to it. Don’t bite, sweetheart,” Teedo sneered before closing the door behind him.

“What do you want? I already told the loathsome worm I’m not interested in doing any sex work,” Rey snapped without waiting for an answer.

They seemed taken aback by her direct manner then immediately insulted by her implication.

“Jesus Christ, that has absolutely nothing to do with why we wanted to see you. It’s Rey, right? Your name,” the younger looking one said, holding his hand up as if to assure her of his good intentions. He had kind eyes and even smiled a little once Rey’s scowl lessened up.

“We’re here to talk about your dancing.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to spare a tip,” Rey bit back.

“Oh, this should be somewhat better than tipping,” the other man finally spoke.

“So you’re playing bad cop I gather,” she retorted. Being offensive had always been her coping mechanism of choice, and it had served her well so far.

“Where did you train? And why in God’s name are you working in this rat hole?” he pushed on, ignoring her. This one was more poised, his casual and vaguely cocky manner probably earning him a great deal of credit with women. “Excuse us please, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Poe Dameron, my friend here is Finn Storm. You seem young, are you still in school?”

“Didn’t go to school.”

“Like...any school?”

“Do I honestly look like the scholarly type to you?” she fought the urge to roll her eyes but went on after seeing the genuinely interested looks on their faces. “Started high school a while ago. Never finished it.”

“You’re British.”

“I am.”

“What’s your immigration status?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she started to move backwards towards the door, panic starting to well up in her stomach. “You’re fucking Immigration?”

“No, no, no, calm down, we’re not from Immigration,” Finn rushed to stop her.

“But as I’m about to make you a proposition I would however need to know what your status is,” Poe added, crossing his arms in front of his chest and raising one of his eyebrows questioningly. 

She eyed them suspiciously, then said in a little voice “Not good”.

“Thought as much. We’ll have to get our people on it, if things work out.”

“Rey, have you ever heard of The Resistance?” Finn asked sheepishly.

“I’ve seen some posters around town, they’re a contemporary ballet company.”

“Ever seen one of their shows?”

“Since none have aired during my weekly trip to the Laundromat, no.” She hesitated, then added with something like nostalgia in her voice: “Heard they’re quite good though.”

“We would agree. Had you seen a show maybe you would have recognized us. I have been The Resistance’s principal dancer since the onset of the company, which I also co-founded, and Finn is our latest addition, were very lucky to snatch him up after graduation last year.”

“You’re with The Resistance?” She asked incredulously.

“We are. And we’d like for you to come in for an audition.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ben had had many bad weeks in his 33 years but this one would definitely make top five.

Less than a couple of months before the start of the season, which they had decided to kick off with an exorbitant and ridiculously challenging montage of his own “Tango/Stereo & Juliet”, he decided to go ahead and have a fight with his principal dancer, which led to her contract being unceremoniously terminated, and although he had categorically been in the right, he was starting to doubt his timing. 

It was difficult to find a replacement at such short notice, as all the names he would have tolerated to audition were already involved in big projects with their own companies; he would have considered a graduate, but the most promising ones had already been scouted earlier in the year. Promoting one of the soloists was not a viable option, with BB being gloriously refreshing as their own act but a bit too overwhelming in their exuberance for them to lead a coherent performance as a whole and Phasma’s onstage connection with Poe being rather difficult due to their height difference.

He had reluctantly agreed with a suspiciously enthusiastic duo of Finn and Poe to let them organize an informal audition with a few potential candidates, but had very low expectations. He was a notoriously difficult person, he knew it as well as everyone else, but had nowadays learned to embrace it as one of the traits that got him where he was. He didn’t believe it would be possible for him to be able to pick someone out of the bunch of unknown names on the sheet of paper in his hand. 

There were all the right schools listed next to them but one in particular got his attention as he scanned the list. Rey Kenobi – The Organa Foundation. He knew his mother had started some sort of homeless shelter for the underprivileged artistic youth, and last he heard Skywalker himself had been dredging his feet to serve some kind of idiotic soulful guidance to her welfare acts. He had had enough of his mother’s charity for two lifetimes. He wondered at the girl’s gall to audition with him, but then again the younger ones didn’t always know who his family was.

He stormed through the double doors of the performance hall, his footsteps echoing as he made his way towards the handful of people who were part of his life now. Poe was frantically arguing with Finn in a low voice (and he was starting to suspect they had finally owned up to their obnoxiously loud chemistry) and were seated next to a sulking Hux, their manager’s feet propped up against the row in front; Phasma was eating popcorn and brushing the debris into Hux’s lap; Rose was happily chattering away with BB while the rest of the company was gathered around Jessika who was probably showing them funny cat videos. Some stirred when he came in but they all quieted down as he sat, with small nods and “Hey boss’s”.

He gave the assistant to go-ahead and for the next hour he fought to keep the internal cringing and wincing well...internal. He made a point of keeping a neutral face as he watched the dancers improvise a routine over the rapidly changing sequences of music. He liked to put them in a tough spot, knew the truly gifted ones always found their pace and it made it easier for him to see through their training. Some had been technically good but lacked creativity, some had tried to impress him and ended up making a cacophonic mess of their act, some had been so nervous they stopped before the music ended. It was not going well.

“Next up, Rey Kenobi,” the assistant announced.

“Well, here’s to you, mom,” Ben grumbled so that it came out as a non-committing grunt.

A skinny girl came onstage, looking younger than the rest, but seeming rather unimpressed by the rehearsal hall (which even Ben had to admit was imposing with its painted ceiling and post-modern chandelier) or by the audience. She stopped mid-stage and lifted her chin just a fraction, as if standing in defiance of her public. And then the music started. He watched holding his breath as she moved through the collage of tunes, gliding, pouncing, changing her rhythm as if she were breathing the music itself, anticipating the change of pace and skirting through the transitions leaving you believe the melody was reverberating from her dance. When the music stopped she got up from her crouch and resumed her position calmly as if she hadn’t just stunned all who had been watching. 

She was what he had been looking for. She was exactly what he needed. Her training was sound. There had been small falterings here and there, nothing that couldn’t be corrected, but the rawness and power of the act were something he hadn’t seen since... well since he would watch the recordings of his own acts.

When he came to his senses he realized everyone in the room was staring at him, as if waiting confirmation that what they just saw was real.

He cleared his throat and spoke up, his words coming out coarser then he intended: “Miss Kenobi, I’m Ben Solo, I’m the artistic director for The Resistance and in charge with the choreography of the company’s performances.”

She muttered something along the lines of “pleasure” seeming however less than pleased to make his acquaintance.

“Where did you train? You obviously have a strong background in cl...”

“Nowhere,” she cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“OK, so Britain then. Did you study in London or Birmingham? Can’t believe Leeds would yield such structure no matter how talented you a....”

“I don’t have any formal training,” she interrupted again.

Ben looked at her as if dumbstruck, opened his mouth to speak and closed it without anything coming out, then tried again. 

“I’m confused, your application said you are sponsored by the Organa Foundation, they only patron artists who pursue higher education, as far as I know.”

“Oh yeah, the hippie guy with a beard told me something about conditions for an official sponsorship, but he spoke a lot and there were cookies on his desk and after he told me I could take as many as I wanted I honestly didn’t follow much of what he said,” she rattled on with gleaming eyes at the memory of the cookies but toned it down when she saw the look on his face (at least he hadn’t been mistaken about his uncle returning to the States). “I won’t be pursuing any higher education anytime soon though,” she added, a touch of irony as she parroted his words.

“Miss Kenobi, you have to excuse me, but I have a hard time understanding... so you’re telling me you have no official ties with the Organa Foundation, no formal education, and no interest to pursue one in the foreseeable future. I do not audition amateurs, how the hell did your name end up on my list? What is it you do exactly? Do you dance for a living?”

“One way of putting it,” she grumbled, but was cut off by a hysterical fit of cough from Finn, which made Ben turn in his direction, and then it clicked.

“Did you know about this?” he snapped. Their guilty looks left no room for interpretation. 

He turned to her again.  
“Are you a street performer?”

“Say yes, for the love of God,” he thought he heard Poe mutter under his breath while rubbing his temples as if hit by a sudden migraine. 

“I’m an exotic dancer.”

Ben felt as if everyone in the room stopped breathing at the same time. He was brought back from his shock by an excited huff from Hux, now decidedly less bored.  
“Best audition I’ve ever dragged my ass to,” followed by a commotion as Phasma threw the remaining popcorn at his face.

“I beg your pardon?” Ben asked when he found his voice again.

“She does this exotic act, you know, Cirque du Soleil genre,” Finn blurted out animately, followed immediately by Poe.  
“Yes, yes, there’re fire sticks and leopard skin and drums.”  
“And a snake, definitely a snake.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Ben’s tone was dangerously low and he kept his gaze on Rey, who seemed only mildly uncomfortable despite the ridiculousness of the situation.

He then leaned forward, placing both his elbows on his knees:  
“Miss Kenobi, indulge me, to use plain terms, am I to understand that you currently work as a stripper?”

“I do,” she answered, and despite a blush that started to color her cheeks, her eyes never left his.

“Everybody out,” Ben managed to say, voice dropping lower still.

“Ben, look...” Poe started but was cut off by Ben’s shouting.

“Everybody OUT NOW!”

In seconds they all scrambled to their feet, heading towards the side doors.

“Not you,” he added, when his eyes met Rey’s. “I would like another word if you please.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been an idiotic idea, she had known all along. After Finn and Poe left her at the bar, she had gone home to the squalor of her studio, took a tepid shower as the building’s boiler was down again and then stared for what seemed like hours into her plate. What little was left in her fridge would normally have left her as hungry as ever in the week before pay, but that night she found that for the first time in years she had no appetite for food.

They had offered her a way out of what her life was now. Curiously, the first thing that popped into her head hadn’t been the poverty, as bad as things were, but the loneliness. She had never forged any real connection to another person, she had never known what it would be like to share something, anything, her pain, the nightmares, the fits of panic that would come out of nothing and suffocated her until she was left void of feeling, even the small things that sometimes brought her joy: a decent meal, walking home in the cool spring air, playing with the stray dogs in the park. 

Would she be able to do it? She had thought it all left well in the past, dead and buried, but then the two idiots decided to show up, with their kind smiles, lively encouragements and enthusiastic plans that left her feeling as if she were standing in front of a door-to-door sales agent, but instead of home appliances she had something else being waved in her face, something so far-fetched she couldn’t find it in her to believe possible. Things like these never happened to her. She was the one who was never loved, never seen, always left behind, always alone.

She had half-heartedly agreed to meet them the next day at some sort of charity, where she was supposed to meet with some people that would facilitate her getting into the audition (the choreographer was rather choosy they had said, which almost always translated into arrogant and pedantic arse). After a blurry morning that had her head spinning with the number of people she spoke to, even improvising a few moves to a bit of Lenny Kravitz that was playing on the radio, the older fellow with blue eyes and bushy beard, Luke something, told them that they would agree to informally sponsor her for an audience with The Resistance. This seemed like a bit deal, judging from the way Finn and Poe were gloating and thanking and planning all over again.

The plan was for her to audition, winging any personal questions, while insisting on her firm intention to apply to Juilliard in the spring. She would fill the position for the next season, then would use the time to dissuade said arrogant arse from his ideas that a university degree was compulsory for a spot in his company.

Needles to say it had not gone as planned.

She was now alone with Ben Solo, who was glaring at her and working his jaw as if trying to decide if he should call security or throw her out himself. She took the time to study him a little better and he was not at all what she had pictured him. He was young, probably in his early thirties, well-built and undoubtedly really tall judging by the length of his stretched-out legs; he was unconventionally handsome, with a long nose, plump, pouting lips and dark eyes that she had to admit to herself were the only thing having somewhat unfazed her through the last hour. She had never been ashamed of who she was, and in the rapid turn of events she had not found it in herself to lie about her present situation, only now realizing that she had probably thrown everything out the window with her truths. The past however was best left in the past.

“You’re lying,” he finally said, calmer than expected, given the fact that he was still clenching his left fist.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you talking about stripping car parts, because I actually dance around a pole while taking my clothes off for money.” She knew talking back was not going to help her situation but there was anger starting to build up in her chest. She would not let him judge her, who with his expensive shoes and stupidly glossy hair probably grew up with a doting family and a house in the Hamptons, going to all those right schools and squandering his trust fund while his parents’ money made sure he would suffer no consequence no matter how badly he fucked up. He had known no hardship in his life, she could tell.

“I’m talking about your training,” he ignored her rant. 

“Miss Kenobi, I have lived and breathed dance all my life, I know a professionally trained dancer when I see one. You put a lot of effort into masking the technique you were taught and it works well enough for what little we asked you to perform here today, but there is a reason I refuse to work with amateurs. One cannot innovate and astonish on stage in the way I expect them to if they are not exceptionally trained in classical ballet. And you obviously have been, at some point, and yet you stand here and lie to my face, for reasons that completely baffle me, as if you came over just to waste both our time.” His voice was starting to fill with anger as he stared her down with a dangerous look.

“But what’s worst of all, do you have any idea how many dancers would fucking kill their own mother to be able to do what you take for granted and instead of owning up to it and take responsibility for the fact that you have a gift, you decide to squander away your talent and take your fucking clothes off for a couple of bucks?”

He went silent, still breathing heavily, and Rey realized he had stood up while grinding her, and yes, she had been right, he was really, really tall.

“I have nothing more to say to you,” was all she managed to strangle out.

“Who are you?” he spoke again, softer this time, a hint of something else in his eyes instead of the haughty gaze he had pinned her with until then.

“I’m no one,” she said and turned around to scramble towards the exit just in time to hide the tears that were now starting to pool.


	5. Chapter 5

“Both of you, in my office.”

Poe and Finn exchanged a panicked glance and begrudgingly followed him into the large, well-lit room. There were shelves occupying most of the walls, filled to the brim with his beloved record collection, books and thousands of hours of performance recordings. Awards were hung behind the desk, Ben’s MacArthur Foundation Grant looming over the rest in an opulent display Hux had forced upon him to impress sponsors.

They sat opposite from him and the silence was deafening as he glowered at them.

“So...how’s this gonna go, you talk first, we talk first?” Poe dared to crack a joke.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That was our next lead, Ben, unless you’re too blindsided to get you head out of your goddamn ...” Finn started spiritedly but trailed away as Poe kicked him unceremoniously under the table.

“Where the hell did you find her?”

“Finn was bar-crawling for a friend’s birthday and ended up at that dump she works at, Jakku they call it. He watched her act and convinced me to go see her for myself. What I saw is what you have seen today and I have absolutely no remorse for bringing her here. You would never have agreed had we told you the truth and it was something I thought you needed to experience first-hand. She obviously trained somewhere and something must of happened to make her clam up about it, she’s stubborn and difficult and a bit rough around the edges but everything we need is there. She just needs help.”

“Sooo..." Finn plucked up the courage to speak again a few awkward moments later. "What do you think?”

“You know what I think, I’m not blind and I’m not an idiot,” Ben grumbled as he covered his face with his hands.

“Did you hire her?” Was Poe’s turn to question.

“I was going to...then I fucked it up. She’s gone.” Ben sighed as the light started to dim through the windows as the sun set.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been years since going into this part of town. He wasn’t a fan of bars in general and he had probably gone into a strip joint 3 times in his life.

The place was horrendous, dirty windows covering the entrance and drunk patrons smoking and laughing loudly in front. A guy was peeing two feet from the door. Ben went inside and asked for the manager, a despicable fool who suddenly became less aggressive and extremely servable once he saw the bills pushed in front of him on the counter.

Ben waited impatiently in the dingy office, and when she came in, he found himself once more at a loss for words. Her hair was down, she wasn’t wearing any makeup and was clutching an old dressing robe around herself. She had freckles, he could now tell, seeing her closer up.

“What the fuck do you want?” She was clearly not pleased to see him again. “If you came here to humiliate me further, the show’s in the other room, I go up shortly. Be sure to tip more than two bucks though.”

“No, I prefer to speak to you while you’re fully dressed,” he finally spoke, trying to keep his voice as level and unassuming as possible. He needed this to go right.

“I want to ... tell you I regret the way our first conversation ended. I’m passionate about what I do, as you must have figured and I’m not a particularly nice person.” She raised her eyebrows in provocation. He sighed, crossed his arms and went on.

“I have many flaws and some qualities but empathy is sadly not among them. I find it hard to understand and accept the motivations of others. This got me very few friends but has made me who I am today, professionally. I am not afraid to push the dancers beyond their limits and fears and bring out whatever it is that makes them unique.” Ben paused for a bit to assess the effect of his words.

She was eyeing him distrustfully but did not stop him or storm out, which he took as a green light to go on.

“And watching you...” His hand went through his hair in a nervous gesture. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything close to similar. You’re incandescent. You draw blood from the music and pour your being into the movement. I saw it all, the hurt, the longing, the walls you built; but I also saw the hope. You want to sell yourself short and insist that you’ve given up but I saw it, the blaze, it’s still there. You made me want to weep and scream and laugh and it’s exactly what it means to be a genuine performer. Put your soul out on display for the audience to be not just moved, but also utterly knocked out and then send them home changed in some way by who you are. Taking with them a part of you.”

She remained silent, no indication of her thoughts other than the slight lessening of her frown.

“You would have me believe you came here to dirty that coat of yours which probably cost more than my rent just to apologize?”

He bit back that it had probably cost more like 6 months’ rent and went on.

“Do you do drugs?”

“How the fuck does that concern you?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, I don’t,” she answered in spite of herself. “I don’t do drugs, don’t have a criminal record, don’t have sex for money...”

“Yes, that last part I’ve heard,” he fidgeted a bit, dropping his gaze, not enjoying the mental image.

“Well then, Miss Kenobi, I’d like to offer you a position with the company. We find ourselves unfortunately short of a dancer and the season premieres in two months. The pay is fair and our lawyers can help with your green card, which yes, your two groupies have also mentioned. We would sign a 12-month contract and figure out things as we go.” He hesitated, not happy with what he was about to say.

“I...personally feel that you should finish your education and get a BA degree, there is no art school that would not offer full funding. But, after extensively discussing it with the company, I decided to leave that up to you. If you wish to accept my offer, there will be no strings attached, I am not contractually binding you to anything after the year ends.” He crossed his arms again and straightened up to his full height.

“You should know that I am extremely strict regarding discipline, punctuality for rehearsals and keeping yourself healthy. Concerning dancing, I will expect nothing less than everything you have to give,” his gaze growing darker. 

Ever since he first saw her, it was as if she had awoken something dormant inside of him, which was eating at him with a consuming need to catch her and never let her go, mould her to his vision, channel her uniqueness and sit back and bask in her light.

“And I will give you the same in return,” he concluded, holding out his hand for her to take.

Rey stared at him for a long time, for once seeming unable to come up with a snarky response, then finally cleared her voice and spoke in a clipped tone:

“Well, in this case I think you should call me Rey,” as she took his hand and shook it forcefully.

“Glad to have met you, Rey,” Ben let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Her fingers were calloused and her hand was cold, but something along the base of his spine protested as he let her go.


	7. Chapter 7

Rey stopped to catch her breath as she arrived in front of the theatre, its brownstone facade warm in the morning light. As uncommon as it was for young dance companies to have their own venue, The Resistance somehow did. They usually held a short opening season in the fall and a longer one in the spring, the rest of the year spent touring the country or abroad. The location, they had named it The Takodana, would then selectively host various performances ranging from experimental theatre to rock concerts.

Ben, of course, had the final say on who would be permitted to set foot on stage (“his stage” being the designated term). Not that there was any single fucking thing he didn’t have last word on; she had a good mind to ask him if the toilet paper in the building also bore his seal of approval.

“Morning”, greeted Armitage Hux, as they passed each other in the lobby, breaking her trail of thought; his own assistant, Dopheld Mitaka, was as always on the phone with a tour delegate or sponsor, perpetually panic-stricken as he trailed his boss.

Upon being officially introduced a few weeks earlier, Hux had admitted that she could be Martha Graham herself for all he cared, her most redeeming quality to date was getting Ben Solo completely hammered by a revolted Phasma for not having hired the stripper. The well spoken, arrogant and self-indulgent fellow Brit was aside from Poe, one of the few who dared question Ben Solo in the face about anything.

One other would be Maz, who led day-to-day rehearsals. Rey felt her position in the company was better described as ballet master than her official title of “rehearsal director”. The tiny woman was a fierce sight to behold. Perched on top of her chair she vigilantly studied the dancers through her enormous spectacles and throughout the grueling workday she prompted, corrected, hinted and often downright ordered them around to her liking. Ben would almost always attend and often offered his input but gave her more than enough free hand and it was clear they had a profound understanding of each other’s taste in movement, flow and technique.

Rey had taken to Maz from the start, captivated by her blunt discourse and no-nonsense attitude. During their first rehearsal together, Maz had observed her guardedly and after exchanging a fugitive glance with Ben, thankfully asked no questions and declared that her posture was dreadful.

On her way up the stairs, Rey waved back to a generally charming Rose Tico who oversaw costumes, but at the moment was busting some poor intern’s balls about what sounded like “the worse feather disaster since Bjork“.

The rehearsal hall was already packed when she went in, panting after the sprint to the second floor. There were 30 dancers in The Resistance, herself included, and as she observed them, she could understand why the company had been dubbed as the first truly inclusive one in the country. They were a striking mix of personalities and body types, handpicked not by height, weight or skin color, but by the quality they brought to the stage, be it physical force, pride, effervescence, grit or seduction.

Finn and Poe were arguing as usual so they didn’t notice her come in. They were the reason she had made it this far, she supposed. After Ben’s incursion to Jakku, when the dust had settled and the music stopped, she had cried herself to exhaustion. This time the imaginary salesman had offered everything, while she was most definitely nothing and she couldn’t do this all over again. The next morning she stormed into the theatre to tell everyone she had changed her mind only to bump into the terrible duo again, their grins the size of Canada, Finn’s sweater soft as he hugged her happily. She couldn’t find it in her to say the words; so in spite of it all, she stayed.

She scanned the room once more and breathed in the energy of the place. She liked these imperfect people, who had big dreams, fears, doubts, who laughed, bickered and complained, who were in turns joyful and sad and at the end of the day just people. People brought together by someone’s vision of how to showcase life on a stage.

That someone was obviously Ben. Rather distant and aloof, there was not much Rey had been able to make of him these past weeks. He was obviously very intelligent, exceptionally creative and perceptive to music. While his attitude concerning the artistic act was forceful and unwavering, confident in his choreography, he was however less gifted on an inter-personal level. The dancers and staff were generally awestruck with some sort of fearful respect that didn’t much inspire bonding over the coffee break. It didn’t help that he spared absolutely no feelings when imparting critique and any little praise he had to give mostly came in the form of silent approval. And he pushed, oh, how he pushed them all; he seemed to have this sixth sense of a hound dog, as if he were able to smell whatever it was that was holding you back, however dark or intimate or painful, so whatever you had tucked away he would rip out and set free to make you do exactly as he had demanded: give your everything.

They had clashed more than once, as Rey was less than eager to be artistically manhandled by a pretentious prick, no mater how visionary he was. The way he looked at her sometimes, it was ... maddening, a mix of what felt like aversion towards her and disbelief at himself. She knew he had stepped on his pride to hire her, that despite acknowledging her raw talent, deep down he abhorred having her taint his immaculate ensemble. The rare times he touched her to correct her stance, he would withdraw as quickly as possible, as if the mere thought offended him. She sometimes wondered how it would feel to be held by such large hands, if it would finally feel safe, if it would feel like belonging.

As she was giving herself a mental face slap for asking such moronic questions, Ben stormed in and they all took their opening positions.


	8. Chapter 8

“Once more, from the beginning”.

“I need a break.” Rey was definitely panting now, sweat dripping down her forehead.

“5 minutes. After you do it again, from the beginning.” Ben hissed, emphasizing each syllable.

The girl was exasperating. He had known she wouldn’t be afraid of him and that had been part of what made him want her there in the first place. She was feral, her energy leaking and intoxicating everyone around, her spirit loud and brutal, demanding to be seen and heard. 

There was something about her that called to him. He had thought it was just a combination of her talent and his possessive nature, his desire to claim her creatively and be the one to shape her as a performer; but after some time he began to suspect there was more to it. Every time he touched her it felt wrong, as if he were on the verge of opening the floodgates and drowning himself in whatever ambiguous feelings he was starting to have for her. He had tried to break it down and see if it were physical attraction he felt; it would have been the simplest to understand (he hadn’t slept with anyone in a while) and easiest to manage (he never got involved with one of his dancers), and maybe he could let himself be attracted to her if he wanted, with her slender figure and long legs and that lovely, impertinent mouth. But this was something else. The loneliness she felt, the pain, at times it was so raw it felt tangible. It spoke to him, went straight to his damaged soul and there it seemed to find something that spoke back, aching to connect and commiserate and ... belong.

She shot him a killing look, resentfully resuming her position and did as she was told. It never ceased to amaze him, the way she moved: her intensity, her force, her ability to change from one mindset to the next, one moment some sort of wild animal, the next pensive and sad. Perfect.

“No. Too weak.” was what came out of his stupid mouth.

“You’re not projecting enough, you’re rigid and expressionless.”

“Well, honestly Ben, at the moment I have absolutely nothing to express other than the fact that I’m exhausted and probably going into hypoglycemia.” Rey barked at him, her scowl in its usual place whenever they spoke. He didn’t think she much cared for him; then again she wouldn’t be the first.

“Again,” Ben ignored her petulant disposition, he had gotten used to it. “Don’t overthink, just feel and translate that into the motion.”

“What I feel is that we have been at this for hours now and yet each 5 minutes you seem to conjure up some fresh way of fucking with me, I swear to God I couldn’t possibly get everything wrong even if I tried!” Her cheeks started to color as anger obviously got the best of her. He was too tired for another one of their scenes in front of the whole corps.

“Fine, everyone can take 10 minutes, better give Miss Sunshine here a moment to soothe her ego.”

Sensing the mounting tension and not wanting to be present for a full-on Ben Solo outburst, the rest of the dancers cleared the room in what felt like seconds.

Rey, however, stood her ground and stared him down. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, knowing this would provoke her further.

“What the fuck is your problem? I do everything exactly the way you want me to and still you’re picking on every single freaking detail just because you can. What the hell are you trying to prove? That you know better? That you’re so very good at what you do?”

“I am good at what I do, Rey, and trust me I do know better. I also need to notice every detail you’re getting wrong because this is my job, just in case you missed orientation. I told you from the start, if you were looking for applause you should have tried America’s Got Talent, I’m not here to fucking sing you praises.”

He pushed on, ignoring her attempt to speak “And you’re mistaken, as you always seem to be whenever you take it upon yourself to make assumptions about me, I don’t think you’re doing everything wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here; you are, however, definitely not perfect and I don’t have the time or the patience to let you down gently. I am treating you like any goddamn member of this company, correcting you when you need it and expecting you to stomach it like an adult and get the work done.” He had kept his voice steady and as menacing as possible throughout his discourse.

“Oh, go fuck yourself” she shouted, her eyes dark, her voice echoing in the empty room.

“That’s it,” he whispered with an arrogant smirk. “There’s the emotion I want; that anger you feel, I see it, I see that it hurts. You need to harness it, put it in your dancing; you could be great, Rey, it’d be stupid to waste something as powerful, don’t let it dissipate. If you’re going to feel pain, at least make it worth it.”

“What the hell would you know about pain?” her voice trembling, filled with rage, her eyes boring holes into his. 

She hated him, right then, and he wondered what it would have been like if they had met another time, some other place. Would she have noticed him? Would he have approached her? Complimented her instead of criticizing, soothed instead of wound? Would she have smiled, could he have made her laugh?

“I know enough”, was all he said, his chest tight with frustration and something similar to regret, so lost in thought he didn’t even notice Finn leaning against the doorway as he quietly left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Finn waited a bit after Ben left until finally stepping inside the rehearsal hall. He found Rey standing next to the windows, her gaze somewhere in the distance. She seemed neither angry nor upset; she just seemed ... absent.

“You ok?” he asked, sheepishly.

“Peachy,” Rey deadpanned.

She didn’t know how to have a friend, he thought. Anyone else working here would have been on a roll to trash Ben for being arrogant or bossy or a dick and so on and so forth but she just kept staring at the cars driving by. Ever since her joining The Resistance, Poe and him had tried to get her to open up a bit, let them know her a little better or plainly grab a drink after hours, but so far they seemed to have better chances of convincing Ben to join them for couple’s yoga. Although fairly polite and unpretentious, Rey just didn’t seem interested in anyone’s company. She spoke little, usually about the dancing, avoided any larger and gregarious groups and her liveliest social interactions to date had been her profanity-infused exchanges with Ben. Which brought Finn to his current predicament: how the hell was he going to broach the subject?

“How long have you been in the States, Rey?” he finally asked.

“Three years, give or take,” she sighed. “I arrived in late spring, I remember the cherry trees had shed about all their petals when I first walked around Central Park.”

“Well then, I suppose you have no idea who Kylo Ren was, do you?”

“I barely know who the president is, Finn,” she answered with a small smile.

Finn hated to be a gossip and was relieved he had thought of a decent way to provide her with the information. He felt it was something she needed to know to be able to better cope. Everyone else at The Resistance was privy to the outlines of Ben Solo’s past, even though the unspoken rule of the place was never to bring it up. Poe obviously had the entire story, even if he had never shared with Finn anything more than what was common knowledge. Finn in turn had sensed the issue to be thorny and had never asked.

“I think you should look him up; might help you figure things out... especially with Ben.”

Her gaze clouded at the name.

“He isn’t a bad person, or at least I don’t think he is,” he tried, playing with a loose thread on his jumper to avoid looking at her.

“Gotta tell you, at first he scared me shitless, I never thought I’d make it past the first week the way he kept thrashing me for whatever not.” She didn’t move a muscle but seemed to be listening so he kept going.

“Then the weeks went by and I got to know him a little better, not that we’re best buds or anything, but since I joined the company the truth is I have never once seen him be cruel just for the sake of it. The way he handles things is God awful, I’ll give you that, and hell knows someone should give him a crash course on non-violent communication, but whatever he does, I’m pretty sure that inside his head he rationalizes it as somehow being for the greater good of the company. Listen, Rey, I think this is basically his whole life now, he’s very often first to arrive and last to leave; he and Poe built everything from scratch, and they’re both invested, but sometimes it’s like Ben takes everything to a whole other level; that’s probably a big part of why he made a name for himself, for all of us really.”

He squirmed a bit before going on, it wasn’t really his story to tell.

“What I’ve also noticed is there’s a very deep loyalty between Poe and him; sure, they go back a long way and all but I get the feeling it’s much more than that. They don’t always see eye to eye about the performances and they sure as hell fight a lot, but when it comes down to the important stuff, they always stick together, no questions asked. Now I may not know Ben all that well but I do know Poe and if he trusts and supports someone like that, the guy can’t be a complete jerk.”

There was still no reaction from Rey and after making a quick note to himself to mind his own damn business for the next five years, rattled on to his conclusion.

“So basically what I’m saying and I honestly think I might be having a seizure for saying it, is that I think you should give him a chance. Take tonight off, go clear you head. And please Google that name I mentioned, I promise it’ll make some sense.”

She didn’t answer right away, tearing her gaze from the window to finally look at him. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, Finn, can’t even remember if I’ve ever thanked you properly,” and to his amazement patted him gently on the shoulder. Maybe friendship wasn’t off the table after all. “I just ...” she wiped away a tear and smiled again. “I’m just so very tired, that’s all.”

*****

Rey crashed in front of the computer in the lounge area after everyone had gone home. Finn’s cryptic suggestion had gotten her a bit curious, which was not something that happened often these days; this seemed perfectly reasonable, after all, whoever cared about anything other than food to eat and a place to sleep had probably never gone without either.

The previous weeks had gone by in a haze. She had no idea what she was doing anymore, why she even got out of bed every morning. Before, while still working at the bar, her sole purpose had been survival; things had been simpler back then, there was no incentive, nothing at stake, nothing to lose. Now she was starting to feel some kind of pressure building up, like she had something to prove once again, and she was not only confused but also hated how it felt. It meant there was something worth living for. It was all mostly Ben’s fault, undoubtedly. He had a way of looking at her that had awoken something she had thought long dead. She wanted to impress him. She wanted him to look at her in that way of his, and truly see her, not just a dancer, but also a woman. So much time had gone by since wanting anything at all, that she was at a complete loss to handle all these feelings, which only made her angry. The fact that Ben’s appreciation was so elusive just as she was beginning to crave it frustrated her so much that it turned her anger into downright rage.

And now she sat there like the idiot she was googling this “Kylo Ren” who, according to Finn, was supposed to help her sort her shit out with him. The moment she hit the search button and saw the first photo, she froze, mouth agape with shock: a younger, very handsome and very posh Ben Solo was smirking at her from a red carpet, a gorgeous brunette on his arm. 

He had his own Wikipedia entry, had he fucking invented something as well? The caption read “Benjamin Solo, born 01 November 1987 in New York City, known professionally until 2015 as Kylo Ren, is an American dancer, director and choreographer.” As she scrolled down, there were photos of him on stage, mostly naked from the waist up (and for love of God whoever choreographed knew what they were doing, he was so shredded he was positively mouthwatering), more photos from galas and awards ceremonies of him with different women, equally attractive, photo shoots for magazines and ads, tuxedoes and pop stars. 

She scanned the long list of reviews, craving answers to unspoken questions and not knowing what to read first: “Recipient of copious accolades with the First Order, Kylo Ren to end sensational season with world tour”, “Critics flock to praise Ren’s performance in premiere of Impressions”, “Kylo Ren makes another tour de force with Broken: A promise”, “spectacular strength”, “astonishing energy”, “unstoppable”, “hottest bachelor of 2013”.

When she opened a Youtube clip of him live, her heart was beating fast as if peeking at something private through a keyhole. It was a contemporary piece to Metallica’s Bleeding Me, from eight years ago. The corps assembled and disorganized rhythmically in the background, while Ben took center stage, and for once, the critics had been spot on. He was magnificent, indeed. He danced with such force that he gave the impression of being in a physical fight, his movement emphasized by his height and breadth, his facial expressions so vivid she felt like being at the receiving end of his blows. Why the hell wasn’t he dancing anymore? How had she not thought about this before? The overwhelming majority of choreographers were former or even actual dancers, it should have been obvious that with Ben’s understanding of the skill, he had danced himself, exceedingly well for what it was worth.

Back on the search page, among all the praise, something else caught her eye. There were headlines from 6-7 years ago. “Kylo Ren arrested for disturbance of public order, bail allegedly paid by Leonard Snoke”, “First Order rejects Kylo Ren drug allegations”, “Is a star falling tonight?” This one had a photo of him probably leaving a nightclub, red-eyed, pale-skinned and hollow-cheeked, looking almost nothing like himself. Alone. It felt odd seeing him like that; ever since they had first met, he had always seemed the picture of calculated, seemingly in command of the situation even when losing his temper. This Kylo Ren seemed distressed somehow, out of control; like a caged beast, his look was wild, his gaze dangerous. So was it drugs that had ended his career? Seemed a little to cliché even for Ben...

While she was mulling over the possibility, she finally came across what Finn had probably wanted her to find. She read the words twice, as if unable to make a proper sentence out of them.

“Han Solo, decorated pilot and husband of Senator Organa-Solo, killed in traffic accident, son Benjamin Solo a.k.a. Kylo Ren in critical condition.”

The more she read, the more she understood.

“Senator Organa-Solo demands priqvacy to mourn her husband, deflects questions about her son. Have they reconnected over their shared loss?”

“Kylo Ren discharged in crutches after two-month hospital stay. Will he ever dance again?”

“First Order announces Kylo Ren will not rejoin the company for 2016 season”

Then, dated one year later, “Benjamin Solo, abandoning stage name Kylo Ren, teams up with ABT’s Poe Dameron to start contemporary dance company in NYC”.

Rey continued staring at the screen long after closing the tab. Something heavy weighed her down, as she slouched in that chair feeling both wretched and remorseful. Ben had been right after all, pain was something they both clearly knew.


	10. Chapter 10

Ben had been in a bad mood ever since waking up. There was officially one month left until their opening show and he was utterly displeased with everything. 

He was positive Rose Tico had graced him with a death wish when he announced that the teal rompers she had been enthusiastically fitting for 3 weeks were too uniform and that he had decided on the multicolored palette she had initially suggested after all. 

An hour later, he nearly gave the lighting director a heart attack by declaring that half the set-up needed rearranging because the soloists all looked like suffering from liver failure.

Needless to say, rehearsal didn’t go any better, with him managing to irritate everyone with his persistent displeasure; Phasma announced she would be looking into employment opportunities at the Jakku, Poe had downright suggested he needed to get laid and even Maz seemed fed up with him toward the end. 

To his amazement, he only one who seemed unfazed by his crankiness was Rey. Ever since their spat one week earlier, she behaved rather oddly. She wouldn’t talk back whenever he barked his standard instructions, she avoided eye contact rather than stare him down like she normally did. Once or twice, he could have sworn he even caught her studying him intently when he was busy doing something else. 

“Your spins are too fragmented, I need you to be more fluid. Think of it as endlessly moving forward,” he snapped at her, only resulting in her nodding meekly, gesturing to Poe to repeat the sequence. 

He wondered if she was well, she usually glowered for at least 30 minutes every time he spoke to her. Now she seemed cautious around him, but also somehow ... embarrassed, maybe?

“What the hell would you know about pain?” her words rang inside his head, contempt seeping out of them. Seemed highly unlikely for her to be remorseful about it. He was positive she was completely ignorant about him and his skeletons, not to mention the fact that she downright hated him, so why would she give any fucks that her words had hit him square in the gut? 

A small part of him had wanted to honestly answer her question, before reason kicked in. He had kept to himself for years, what was it about the girl that made him want to reach out like that? That night he had left angrier at himself than at her, frustrated that the first person he felt drawn to in years probably couldn’t care less if he were alive or dead.

When the rehearsal finally ended, he asked Rey and Poe to stay for a moment longer after the room cleared. There was one more change he wanted to make.

“I want to insert a classical pas de deux before the intermission,” he told them. “It should round up the first act better, it contrasts more sharply with the opening sequence.”

“Have a piece of music in mind?” Poe wanted to know, but before he could answer, Rey’s hissing cut him off: “I’m not fucking doing classical ballet for you.”

So much for her newfound tameness, Ben sighed to himself. 

“Are we to go at this again?” he asked, turning around to start gathering his things. He just wanted to get home and quietly slip into a one-week coma after the way his day had gone. “You claiming you never learned how, me pretending to be too stupid to know I’m being lied to, everyone wasting their time?” He looked at her again. “You do en pointe work every single fucking day, so for once, can you please just cooperate and not make my life hell?”

“Oh, I do know how,” she lifted her chin and shot him one of her signature “go screw yourself” looks. “What I said and apparently need to repeat because you seem to have trouble understanding simple English words was that I am not doing it.”

“I think you’re somewhat confused about the way things go in a dance company, princess.” He used the endearment intently, for the sake of provocation. How could she possibly manage to get under his skin every freaking time?

“Ben, come on, we’re all tired, let’s just drop this and talk about it tomorrow.” Poe said appeasingly. He seemed just as eager to get this day over with.

“No, no, let’s just get things straight while we’re at it.” He persisted, because if there was one thing Ben Solo was good at, it was making everything worse. “Are you under the impression that you and I are on negotiating terms? A month ago you were performing on a very different kind of stage and somehow had no damn scruples about that, and now you suddenly become finicky?“

That seemed to rattle Rey’s cage further, scorn filling her retort. “Of course, this is something you need to remind me, preferably on a daily basis, in case I ever forget that the pristine Ben Solo stooped so low as to bring a filthy stripper on his damn stage. You pretentious, snobbish hypocrite.”

“You’re calling me a hypocrite? I have been nothing but honest to you from the start,” anger creeping up on him like poisonous gas, his pitch growing dangerously higher. “I literally fished you out of a gutter and went against every rule I had set to give you a shot at something great, in exchange for one thing. You have one part to play in this story, and that is fucking dancing to what I tell you to! I saw something remarkable in you and I took a chance and brought you here to...”

“You brought me here to dance like a puppet on your string!” she interrupted again, her eyes fierce and her tone hostile. “I’m the biggest idiot in the galaxy. You know, I’ve been beating myself up for judging you unfairly for days, but apparently I was right about you from the start, as I always am when it comes to every arsehole I’ve ever met!” her temper escalated quickly, making her cheeks blush and her eyes glisten threateningly.

“I know exactly how things go in dance companies, Ben. For all your talk about artistic freedom and Hux’s publicity stunts selling you as the redeemer of disadvantaged performers, you’re no different from any other privileged tyrant running one.”

“So that’s why you stopped dancing? Had a clash with some tyrannical director that offended your creative sensitivities?” he reverted to a more casual tone, the one you use to discuss the weather, knowing that it will only aggravate her further. “Ran away acting like a spoiled brat, fooling yourself that you were paralyzed by whatever it was that went wrong, while the truth is you’re afraid of owning up to who you are. Choosing to be no one because if you ever become someone you have to face the world instead of hiding from it in a dump waiting for whatever life is left in you to be snuffed out.” Even as the words left his mouth he realized he had gone too far.

“You have no fucking right!” she bellowed, throwing the water bottle she had been holding to her side. 

“OK, that’s enough, both of you. Let’s all just go home and sleep before anyone spits out anymore crap tonight” Poe interjected, probably sensing that things were getting out of hand as well.

“No! You don’t know one fucking thing about me, you have no right to judge, no right to assume, you have no right to even think anything about me!”

He should apologize. He should admit that hiring her had never been a compromise, but an investment. Probably the best he had ever made. 

“Calm down, you’re hysterical. Poe’s right, you need to get some sleep, one of us will drive you home” Ben placated as poorly as he had handled this entire conversation, then unwisely placed his hand on the small of her back to try leading her towards the door. Rey pushed him aside and recoiled, putting as much space between them as possible.

“Get the fuck off me, I hate you! I hate everything you fucking stand for!” she yelled, frantically. She snatched the first thing that came into her grip, which happened to be a coffee mug on the window sill, and hurled it forcefully in his general direction. Either he moved fast enough or her aim had been shitty, but it completely missed him and smashed into the wall behind, shattering and spluttering its contents all over the place.

When she reached for one of the heavy vases on the same sill, he instinctually lunged forward, grabbed her arm and tried to immobilize her.  
“You need to stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me, let me go, you fucking bastard” she roared, now completely out of control.

He managed to trap her in a vise-like grip, while she fought to escape his arms and probably elbow him in the face. She screamed and kicked and threatened while he struggled to keep her still.

“Rey, stop. Please just stop, I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He tried to calm her down but she devolved in a mess of flailing limbs and curses, as if her only goal was to hurt him, either physically or with her words.

He glanced at Poe for help, who stood powerlessly and looked as befuddled as he felt, not knowing what to do to calm her meltdown, when a thought hit him. He dragged her towards the corridor, trying to be as gentle as possible without letting her go, remembering the shower room was just down the hall. After what seemed like the longest minute of his life, he finally reached the showers, managed to free one hand to turn on the cold water and shuffled both of them under the stream.

He kept her there, holding her back snugly against his chest. It felt awkward to be this physically close to her, but the urge to take some of the despair away was overriding his notion of what was socially appropriate, so he bowed his head slightly, pressed his cheek to the side of her head and spoke into her ear.

“It’s ok, you’re ok. We’ll stay here for a minute, I’m not letting go.” He felt the fight leave her body, the tension in her muscles fading away and making room for the tears that followed shortly. He then dared relaxing an inch and let the two of them slide carefully along the tiled wall to land with a thud on the shower floor. She started bawling earnestly, big sobs shaking her body, her cry partially drowned out by the rhythmical sound of running water.

He felt like shit. Poe should have been the one to deal with this, Ben admitted to himself. He knew first-hand the other man was naturally better equipped to manage emotional crises, and yet he had acted on reflex, wanting to do something, anything to soothe the pain that had obviously taken its toll on her. She was broken in a way he knew intimately, needing help he didn’t know how to give. “It’ll be better tomorrow morning,” he tried again feebly.

“I don’t ... I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning” was all she managed to get out between her erratic gasps for breath.


	11. Chapter 11

Poe stood in the doorway, his brow set, his jaw tense. He had kept his calm through the whole scene, now considering the two of them on the bathroom floor, soaking wet under the shower, Rey still sobbing uncontrollably, albeit not thrashing about anymore, Ben still holding her tightly and leaning resignedly against the wall.

He had seen this before. This kind of hurt, this heartbreak, he remembered it as if it were yesterday. As if six years hadn’t passed since walking into that hospital ward, heart heavy as he watched Kylo Ren break down after being told his father had not survived their accident. 

Poe hadn’t forgotten anything. How he rushed out of bed when the hospital called because Ben had never bothered to change his emergency contact; how he endured the hours of waiting as the First Order star was rushed in and out of surgery for internal bleeding and when finally waking up, looked at him for the briefest moment, neither acknowledging him nor kicking him out; how he later raged, howling at the staff to get his mother out of his sight, that her son was gone and neither of them had any family left.

He kept his mouth shut as Ben hurled whatever object he got his hands on, as he screamed once the pain from his shattered knees finally overcame the adrenalin, as he collapsed under the burden of the sedatives they injected him with. Until morning, he never spoke a word, never came one step closer than the far end of the room, never tried to engage. He never did anything other than breathe in and out ... and stay. He stayed in that room for two days, with a wrecked man that refused to eat, couldn’t sleep and was at times so agitated he needed to be restrained.

No one else came to visit. Poe wondered if the hospital denied them due to Ben’s fragile state, or if there was actually nobody who cared. He had half-expected to see Snoke casually stride in without notice, as if owning the place and the people inside, but he never did.

He had asked himself what the hell he was doing there himself. They hadn’t spoken for years, he barely even knew this person in front of him anymore. 

On the third day, when the nurse politely suggested that he went home and took a shower, he spoke to Ben for the first time. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Want me to get anything for you? Call anyone?” Ben never answered. Poe arrived at his place in a daze. He got one hour of sleep, the proffered shower, ate whatever was left in the fridge and headed back to the hospital. On his way out, as if struck by sudden inspiration, he rummaged through some boxes in the back of the closet and managed to dig out his beat-up PS Vita, cramming it into his pocket.

Ben, or Kylo, or whoever he was now, showed no sign of protest as he dragged the chair he had claimed for himself since the first day close to the bed. An intuitive creature, Poe knew talking wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had witnessed more than one staff member being insulted to tears for trying to reason with their patient; he was positive at least one had been a shrink. 

So he slumped in the chair, opened a bag of cheese Doritos he had grabbed from the vending machine down the hall and powered up the ancient Play Station, jubilating when he saw that his flight simulation game was still operational. He spent the next few hours piloting everything from light planes to military jets, swearing at the screen every time he managed to crash his aircraft and completely ignoring Ben, who seemed content to ignore him back.  
When their silent armistice was later broken, it was in the way all great friendships between men begin. One of them did something too idiotic to be ignored. 

Reaching for the last few remaining Doritos, Poe got his fingers so dirty with the powder and grease at the bottom of the bag that he managed to smear the sordid concoction all over the screen and buttons. Irritated, he wiped the Play Station clean on the bed sheet, looked around and grabbed the chopsticks next to Ben’s noodles on the hospital dinner tray, using them to pick the remaining chips and calmly continuing his game.

When he looked up at Ben a few moments later, he was staring at him with a mixture of bafflement and disdain, nonetheless still not kicking him out. Poe naturally took this as a good sign and offered the chopsticks back, asking “Oh, ‘orry, ya still needed these?” with his mouth full, spitting a few pieces on Ben’s sleeve, which then dutifully brushed straight away.

Ben continued to stare, then grabbed the Play Station from his hand and silently started a new round, his face expressionless even as he beat Poe’s best score.

“One day, it’ll hurt less,” Poe finally said after finishing his snack, as indifferent as possible. Pity was definitely something that would have sent Ben into one of his raging fits. “One day you’ll wake up and realize you managed to function for a whole 30 minutes before thinking about it. Maybe a few days later it’ll be a whole hour, then more. This pain will never go away, it’s yours to keep forever I suppose, but one day you’ll have to learn to learn to live with it; if you don’t, everything that happened will have been for nothing, and that’s both ridiculous and sad.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ben spoke after a long time, his voice hoarse from all the screaming, trembling as if he were fighting back tears.

“I have no idea what you’re going through, no. If you ever want to talk to me about any of it, I’ll do my best to understand, but until you do, I can’t give you anything other than random pearls of bullshit philosophical wisdom, like the one I’m sure you greatly enjoyed just now.”

Poe remembered all this and the devastating months that followed, how he had missed rehearsals to drag Ben to physical therapy, stood up dates because of another of Ben’s catastrophic breakdowns, and much later, how one of them drunkenly came up with the idea of starting a company over a joint and too many beers.

Because of what they’d been through, he recognized a ticking bomb when he saw one, so the few words he had to offer over the situation the three of them now found themselves in came easily.

“Ben, I think we should give Amilyn a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos Oscar Isaac  
> https://twitter.com/alamanecer/status/1212728210548514816/photo/1


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think Amilyn Holdo with big Nora Fanshaw (Marriage Story) vibes

Amilyn Holdo had never been one to back up from a challenge, which is why she insisted on taking up Rey as her client, even after their first disastrous session.

When Poe called, he hadn’t been his chatty usual self. Not wasting time in asking for yet another favor, he rushed to declare that they had enlisted a new dancer who was going through stuff. Gave a very descriptive and mildly terrified recount of a meltdown. Concluded with his probably correct assessment that professional help was needed. When she asked about the level of urgency to figure out when she could fit the girl into her already overbooked schedule, he bemoaned miserably “I don’t know what to tell you, Amilyn, I’m not the expert here, but I’m guessing Ben Solo level of bad.”

She set a meeting for the following day. She may have cancelled someone else’s session in the process but hey, if the guy was functional enough to go to Cabo with his mistress over the weekend, he would surely survive a week without therapy, right?

The young woman who stepped into her office seemed distinctly unhappy with her rushed appointment. She was rail thin, wore dark circles under her eyes and was clearly not in a bonding mood. After a curt “Hello”, she plopped herself onto the plush sofa and cautiously scanned the room, only briefly glancing in her companion’s direction.

When Amilyn cracked the ice with the usual “So very nice to meet you, Rey. Will you tell me what brings you here today?” she pursed her lips into a thin line and answered that the “higher powers of the Resistance had deemed me unstable and shipped me off to the doctor’s office.”

“I see.” Amilyn smiled gingerly. “Has anything happened recently that may have led them to think that?”

“I smashed a coffee mug,” the girl casually stated, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh ... all this commotion for a mug?” Bless however first acknowledged the value of feigning ignorance during sessions. “Must have had a hell of a funny print.”

“I ... was aiming it at my boss’s head.” Rey didn’t look up with the admission and began a thorough examination of her fingernails.

“That would be Ben, I imagine.” Amilyn couldn’t help a mischievous grin; knowing Ben as well as she did, she found it admirable that it had taken him so long to become a victim of attempted assault.

“You know him?” Rey asked, suspiciously, abandoning her nails in favor of the more interesting development.

“We’ve known each other for some years now,” she deflected. It wasn’t technically lying and it was deeply unethical to disclose past clients. “I’ll dare assume you were feeling rather angry at the time. Throwing heavy objects at other people’s heads is rarely a goodwill gesture. Does this happen ... often?”

“Thought you said you’ve known him for so very long, what do you think?”

“No, I wasn’t actually referring to Ben, although I do see your point,” Amilyn smiled again, her eyes scrutinizing the woman in front of her, avid for any bit of emotion transpiring through that detached facade she was sporting. “I meant it more in general. Do you often find yourself angry?”

“Sometimes.” 

Not quite the talker, this one. “And the rest of the time?”

“The rest of the time I’m too tired to feel anything.” 

Change of tactics then, direct questioning it is. “Do you sleep a lot?”

“I...don’t sleep a lot, no.”

“Do you sleep well?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you feel you have enough energy to go about your daily life?”

“I get out of bed every morning.”

“Do you find that hard?”

“Yes.”

“How would you describe your general mood?”

“It’s glorious. That’s why I’m in fucking therapy.”

“You’re sidetracking.”

“You’re asking stupid questions.” Rey finally lashed out after their verbal ping-pong, then blushed a bit, slumping further in her chair. “No offense.”

“None taken. Feel free to share anything that’s on your mind while you’re here, Rey. You’ll find I’m very resistant to criticism. Been practicing for 19 years, whatever insult you come up with, I can assure you I’ve heard worse,” she enforced her words with another heartwarming smile and a small tilt of her head. “I would have preferred to have you do the talking but you seem to be a little uncomfortable doing that right now, which is totally fine.”

There was a long pause in which Amilyn studied the girl intently. “Ever think about harming yourself?”

It took Rey a long time to answer. “Too much mess. Not like it would make any difference.”

They’ll have to get back to that later.

“I understand you’re a dancer. Tell me a bit about that.”

“I dance for a well-known contemporary ballet company founded 5 years ago by Poe Dameron and Ben Solo.” Rey began rattling a monotonous speech, as if reciting instructions from a manual. “They perform in New York for the main seasons and tour worldwide for the better part of the year. The company’s seen as one of the most...”

“I know all about the Resistance, Rey.” She interrupted as gently as possible. “I wanted to know what dancing means to you, personally.”

She hesitated again, carefully choosing her words. Amilyn wondered if anyone had asked her this question before. “It’s ... something I’ve been doing for a long time. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Dancing is very vocational, you must have begun at a young age. How did your family feel about that?”

“Oh, wow. I was wondering how long it would take you to dig up the real trash.” She narrowed her eyes in defiance. “Sorry to disappoint you, I’m not doing the psychoanalytical bullshit.”

“You know, I’ve noticed something along the years. The more civilized we become as a culture, the more we like to argue that we are the product of our own selves. The harsher the background, the more we celebrate the individual. Capitalism has fed us the idea that anyone can strike gold if they have what it takes, no matter how dire our circumstances. The American Dream...” Amilyn smiled bitterly. “I don’t think that’s true, though. I think it does matter where we come from, who came before us. Every experience we have from early childhood to old age molds the way we develop our logic, moral reasoning, personality, how we see the world and how we see ourselves. And while psychoanalysis is unquestionably bad science, developmental psychology is definitely not. So when I’m asking about your family, I’m not trying to psychoanalyze, I’m trying to get to know you. However, if you wish for us to steer clear of the topic for now, I respect that. We’ll get around it when you feel ready. Shall we do something else instead?”

They spent the next fifteen minutes working with questionnaires and depression scales, which Amilyn personally despised but still used from time to time when faced with a resistant client.

“How connected do you feel to the people around you?”

“One to five? I’d say one but the guy selling coffee outside the theatre keeps asking about my day and a few days ago I asked about his so I’m gonna give this one a two.”

Amilyn couldn’t resist the opening. “Have there been relationships in your past that have disappointed you?” Big fucking mistake that was.

“Thought we weren’t going there.” Rey spit out the words, suddenly reverting to open hostility.

“I’m getting the feeling you’re harboring a great deal of grief about your past, Rey. I’m not trying to pry, but the past is always something worth exploring to understand why we are where we are at present.”

“You can explore Mars for all the fuck I care. How did you imagine this was going to go? Turn over a rock to have the daddy issues spring out, pat my back while I give it a good cry because I’ve miraculously dug up the source of all my problems and then hold hands singing fucking kum-ba-yah? I’m fucking done with this shit.” She huffed exasperatedly while getting up and slammed the door on her way out, leaving Amilyn alone and irritated at her own strategy. 

She looked down at what she had managed to scribble during their brief encounter: “emotionally stunned”, “self-sabotaging behavior”, “childhood abuse ??”, “no support network”.

There was work to be done, she sighed to herself.

***

Their second session came three days later. Amilyn had set a by-weekly schedule, fearing that the longer they didn’t see each other, the bigger the chance Rey wouldn’t return.

“Happy to see you made it,” she greeted cheerfully, gesturing to the sofa.

“Poe drove me,” Rey answered, the fair amount of grudge in her voice making Amilyn cringe at the awkward silence she imagined plagued their ride over.

“Candy bar?” she offered kindly.

Rey took one and started munching on it in silence, avoiding eye contact.

“Thought I’d begin with telling you a little story. Do you know the one of Murphy’s plough? No? Great, it goes like this:”

<< McGinty, a farmer, needed to plough his field before the dry spell set in, but his own plough had broken.

"I know, I'll ask my neighbour, farmer Murphy, to borrow his plough. He's a good man; I'm sure he'll have done his ploughing by now and he'll be glad to lend me his machine."

So McGinty began to walk the three or four fields to Murphy's farm.

After a field of walking, McGinty says to himself, "I hope that Murphy has finished all his own ploughing or he'll not be able to lend me his machine..."

Then after a few more minutes of worrying and walking, McGinty says to himself, "And what if Murphy's plough is old and on it's last legs - he'll never be wanting to lend it to me will he?"

And after another field, McGinty says, "Murphy was never a very helpful fellow, I reckon maybe he won't be too keen to lend me his plough even if it's in perfect working order and he's finished all his own ploughing weeks ago...."

As McGinty arrives at Murphy's farm, McGinty is thinking, "That old Murphy can be a mean old fellow. I reckon even if he's got all his ploughing done, and his own machine is sitting there doing nothing, he'll not lend it to me just so watch me go to ruin..."

McGinty walks up Murphy's front path, knocks on the door, and Murphy answers.

"Well good morning Mr McGinty, what can I do for you?" says Murphy.

And McGinty says, with eyes bulging, "You can take your bloody plough, and you can stick it up your bloody arse!" >> Amilyn concluded, in a most exaggerated Irish accent, while closely watching her client.

Rey’s reaction was less than she had hoped for, but honestly more than she expected. She still kept her gaze down, but her lips formed a small and short-lived smile, which she stifled quickly. Almost as if she felt she were over-indulging.

“Now, I don’t have a plough, but what I do have is time. Time your employers are paying for, which I personally find awesome,” Amilyn enforced her statement with a wide grin and bent forward in her chair, placing her arms on her knees as she went on.

“I’m not your enemy, Rey, please don’t turn me into one before even hearing what I have to say. Can’t be your friend either, it’s not how this works. But I can be anything else in between you need me to be. Try to think of this as ... insight maybe? I’m guessing you haven’t had a lot of that recently.”

Rey looked up, her features tense, as if holding herself back.

“How are you feeling, just now?”

“I ... “ The first tear made its way to her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. “I’m just so, so sad.”

“How have you been coping with all this sadness?” Amilyn held her gaze, not daring to blink for fear it would break this tentative truce they had reached.

“I’m tired, all the time; I’m tired of being sad all the time.” The tears were now flowing freely. There were no sobs. There was no despair. It was complete and utter lack of happiness.

"If you were to choose one thing that could change today, what would it be?"

“To stop being miserable ... every moment of every fucking day.” She closed her eyes, seemingly more in defeat than relief.

“Oh, that is excellent. I’m so glad you chose to tell me, Rey. It’s a wonderful place for us to start.”


	13. Chapter 13

4 weeks later

_Like many of Benjamin Solo’s works, his new production of Tango/Stereo & Juliet is electrifying. The curtain opens to twenty dancers striding hurriedly in straight lines across the stage, their paths parallel and their gaze onward. Their mingling, reminding the spectator of a busy commute or a walk through Times Square, is abruptly interrupted by a dashing Poe Dameron leaping to get a good look around. He continues his stroll, then another person goes up, followed by another. This search is answered when newcomer Rey Kenobi bursts onstage in frantic exploration, stumbling and narrowly avoiding collision with the others, to eventually be swept up in an impassioned duet with Dameron. _

__

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_Set to music by Osvaldo Pugliese and Gotan Project, the first act evolves into a dazzling series of embraces that speak of individual contradictions, hesitation, toughness, sensibility, and ultimately love. The dramatic cello finale by Yo-Yo Ma sits as musical backdrop for an outstanding classical solo performance by Finn Storm, reminding the viewer of the intrinsic loneliness of the human being, which the young dancer manages to sweeten with contagious hope._

__

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_The raw authenticity of the emotions and the galvanizing conflicts evoked on stage have always been a trademark of Solo’s choreography and a testament to his brilliance, but the true revolution of tonight’s performance was undoubtedly Rey Kenobi herself. The second act showcases The Resistance’s newest addition as a superb Juliet, whose tiny frame managed to fill the stage with perfectly executed grand jétés and exhilarating gyrations. Unknown to the New York scene, she instills the more conservative score with her personal energy, making Ludovico Einaudi’s neoclassical piano feel youthful, ardent and sincere._

__

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_By the end of the evening, the company once more demonstrated the finesse that has projected them to “It” status in the dance world. The audience was roused towards a deeply introspective experience, tears were shed, applause thundered and when the curtain dropped, reality felt more acute than ever._

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***

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Rey blinked a couple of times as she walked into the reception hall. The hotel Hux had chosen to host the post-premiere party was a hip location in Chelsea, contemporary and just the right amount of unconventional. Artistic enough to be interesting, not too hobo chic to deter the snobs from attending. The room was absolutely packed. The git had really pulled his weight, apparently managing to lure every critic, sponsor and celebrity even remotely connected to the NY cultural scene to the event.

__

She took a moment to observe both the place and herself. She was suspecting the Zoloft was starting to kick in. She felt different, somehow. Lighter. She breathed easier. Sometime in the last few weeks she began noticing people, details; she spontaneously engaged in conversations.

__

Just now, probably still running on fumes of adrenaline from the show, she felt herself connecting to the buzz of the crowd, a simmering sort of energy slowly coursing through her veins, making her stomach flutter with anticipation.

__

She found herself scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Ben. He had come backstage for the briefest of moments, telling everyone that they had done “a really good job tonight” then extricated himself before the effervescence of the team could rub onto him.

__

She wanted to see him outside of the theatre. Itched for a different kind of interaction other than their usual directorial dynamic, though she admittedly didn’t know how that might turn out. Things between them had been fluctuating between awkward and tense this past month. She was positive he was getting status updates from Poe, but since dragging her into that shower he had kept their exchanges to a minimum and had never laid a hand on her again. She had been too desperate at the moment to process the fact that she had cried in his arms for what seemed like hours, while he held her fastly against himself, both soaking wet under the stream. In retrospective, it had been the most intimate she had been with anyone in a very long time. She would involuntarily blush each time she remembered how warm and solid he had felt against her, because the memory felt more erotic than a fair part of the sex she had had in a lifetime.

__

There had been bigger things on her mind since. Going on stage again. Having a small army of people expect her to deliver. Her only explanation for having managed to pull through was the sheer momentum her life had gathered. Between the grueling rehearsal schedule, therapy and prescription pills, she hadn’t managed to find time to delve too deeply into the question of “what the fuck was she doing?”

__

Then the curtain rose. The lights blared. And in that moment, all questions went away. Everything fell in place, like a well-oiled mechanism. There was no doubt as to what came after each step, there was only certainty. It wasn’t elation that she felt, but composure. Calm. She remembered why she once used to dance. It was her tiny spot in the grand scheme of things. It was her dial to turn.

__

But now, after the ice had been broken and she had danced again and life seemed to casually run its course, should she let herself think about Ben Solo? Look for him in this sea of people?

__

“Fucking shit, Rey, you look absolutely gorgeous.” Finn cooed while he pulled her into one of his bear hugs, scaring the crap out of her as he had unexpectedly jumped her from behind.

__

She was wearing a simple nude slip that Rose had literally shoved into her arms, claiming her sister Paige had been overly optimistic about her size again, then insisting that the faith of the planet depended on her wearing the damn thing. “Honestly Rey, they used fuel to manufacture this, if it ends up in the back of our closet you’ll be responsible for a tree dying somewhere in the Amazon.” She had splurged on a pair of heels and a classic coat, decided against jewelry and wore her hair in a loose bun at her nape. She felt gorgeous was overstating it, but for once she didn’t feel inadequate.

__

She let Finn and Poe drag her around the room, introducing her to dozens of people she would never recognize if her life depended on it.

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After an hour, when they finally gave into her protests and deposited her at the bar, she tripped on one of those ridiculous heels and bumped into a tall blond who was leaning against the counter.

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“I’m so sorry, these things are a fucking calamity waiting to happen.”

__

“No worries, Miss Kenobi, feel free to knock me cold if you must.” he replied with a smirk. Ok so he was not only tall but also sexy as fuck. “Congratulations on the show tonight, you were ... a sight to behold.” He lingered on the words, letting his eyes roam all over her.

__

“Oh” Rey blushed, taken aback by the recognition and the devouring look she was being exposed to. He was absolutely eye-fucking her. Lucky for him he was hot or she would have left and semi-accidentally spilled his drink in his lap in the process. “You know my name.”

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“The whole room knows your name.”

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“Yeah, not really used to it though.”

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“You will, soon enough.”

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“Well since you know my name it would seem only fair for me to learn yours.” 

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“I’m Derek Klivian, I do PR for some of this lot.” He gestured vaguely towards the party while never tearing his gaze from her. “Might I hope to buy you a drink?”

__

Rey hesitated for a second, weighing her options. He was good looking but she wasn’t really in the mood to flirt and her feet hurt and she still hadn’t found Ben and where the fuck were Finn and Poe when you needed them? As she was racking her brain to find something to say that would stall and buy some time, she caught a glimpse of a dark mane towering above everyone behind the bar.

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“Actually, I’m gonna need to take a rain check on that, but thank you for offering.” He seemed mildly put off but smiled pleasantly as he nodded. “Nice meeting you, Derek.”

__

As she made her way through the crowd towards Ben, she felt the panic welling up. Why the fuck was she going over? He would probably barely acknowledge her presence then excuse himself to avoid talking to her as per their usual habit.

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She thanked whatever higher power actually made the pair who had been entertaining Ben shake his hand and elegantly head towards the dance floor, leaving him alone just as she reached his side. She kept her eyes on the couples that swirled and twirled, but felt him shift when he registered her presence.

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“Happy mingling? Wooed every benefactor in the room?” she asked and dared sneak a peek at him. The fucker was stunning in his black fitted suit, oozing a dangerous sort of magnetism as he casually watched the dancers with his hands in his pockets.

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“I fucking hate this part.” He answered with a scoff, finally making eye contact. “The politics, the pretense, the excess. I have no patience for circus acts.”

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“Oh. I would have thought you might miss at least some of it,” Rey meekly tested the waters.

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He studied her carefully before drawing a deep breath to speak. “See you’ve been reading old papers after all. Is that why you had turned so mellow before deciding I actually deserved to have my head bashed in with a mug?”

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Rey looked up but he was surprisingly more amused than angry, a faint upstroke on the corner of his mouth. She felt she was being reduced to a goddamn teenager under his scrutiny, practically squirming when he quirked an eyebrow at her, his expression a combination of provocation and maybe something else. Fine, she was attracted to him. There, she said it. So what? In all honesty, there was no woman in her right mind who could remain unaffected while pinned in place by those dangerous, dangerous eyes, that screamed “deathtrap” and nothing else.

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“I ... said some uncalled things. And may have judged you unfairly. You ... should know I really am sorry,” she spoke in a low voice, averting her gaze with her last words, not bearing to witness his reaction.

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“Have you been drinking?” She side-eyed him. “Either that or Hux spiced my champagne, I thought I just heard an apology so clearly one of us must be hallucinating.” He was almost smiling now, both eyebrows raised questioningly, head slightly tilted as if teasing.

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“Hilarious. Also I ... thank you for making it possible for me to see Amilyn. It’s been good for me. And for not firing me after the coffee incident.”

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“We go a long way back, Poe, Amilyn and I. Thought you’d like her. She’s really something else. And given my own history with temper, never crossed my mind to scold you, let alone fire you. Let the well-behaved throw the first stone.”

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They lingered in somewhat comfortable silence for a bit. Then he cleared his voice before speaking in a most neutral tone.

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“You did really well today. I was genuinely impressed.”

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No, she wouldn’t gush over that. It was a perfectly professional thing to say. Must have been his go-to pep-talk line for the entire company. “The piece rather spoke for itself, would have been quite difficult to mess it up but thanks anyway.”

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He didn’t answer so she took the opening. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you? Seeing people dance for ... fun. No strings attached. Free.”

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He worked a muscle in his jaw as he looked at her again, weighing something. “Do you want to?” She widened her eyes in surprise. He continued, as if she were dumb enough to need an explanation. “Dance. With me.” His damn eyebrows were up again. “You must promise not to step on my toes though.” There was no decision really as his smirk grew into something absolutely insufferable.

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She held out her hand without saying anything and he promptly took it, leading her assuredly towards the dance floor. She could make out someone whispering in the crowd “Holy shit, is that Kenobi with Solo? Are they dancing?”

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It was Leonard Cohen they were playing, she thought through the haze inside her head. Ben firmly placed a hand on her back and took her right hand into his own. He seemed taller, this close up. Rey swallowed and fought back the fluttering in her stomach. She moved on his queue. He led her flawlessly, wincing once or twice as he put extra strain on one of his knees. “You ok?” she whispered. “Perfect. Should have just warmed up with a tamer partner before taking you on. Ever the beast.” His tone was so low she could feel it roll inside her chest.

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She looked away from him to hide her flustering and realized they were drawing a lot of attention to themselves. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if they were putting something very intimate on display. Except maybe it wasn’t intimate at all and she was just being stupid about it.

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“Ben, I feel like everyone is looking at us.”

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“Everyone is looking at us. Because I’m notorious and you’re beautiful and we’re both very talented and they’re dying to chew us apart. Make sure we’re as much human as they are.”

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“Oh...” He thought she was beautiful. Articulate speech left her for the rest of the song.

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She felt the loss of his touch when they stopped. Ben nodded theatrically and they removed themselves from the floor. Just as they were heading towards the bar, Ben’s hand barely grazing her back, Hux materialized out of nowhere, an absolutely devious gloat on his face. “Fucking hell, that was amazing! You’ll be plastered all over the papers tomorrow. Half the sponsors positively shit their pants in excitement. Told you they were going to eat it up, you oaf, there’s a place and a time for scruples. Great job, doll, by the way, you two just bought two months’ salaries with that little spectacle.”

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She looked over at Ben and knew he saw it, she watched his features rearrange themselves as he registered the feelings that coursed across her own: disbelief, disappointment, betrayal, hurt, and finally anger.

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“No worries mate,” she spoke to Hux. “I’m quite used to exposing myself for money, at least I got to keep my dress on this time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

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“You absolute idiot,” she heard Phasma roaring behind her as she headed towards the bar. She found Derek in the same spot, his face schooled into a surprised expression as she approached him.

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“I changed my mind. I’ll take you up on that drink, on one condition. We share it at your place.”

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***

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“So what’ll it be, Rey? Your poison for the night.”

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“I really couldn’t care less.”

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She was already lowering the straps of her dress as Derek returned with two tumblers half-filled with an amber-looking liquid. He came to a halt as her dress hit the floor and she had to take a few steps forward to seize one of the glasses from his hand.

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“Were you expecting more small talk? I hoped not,” Rey purred, swigging down what turned out to be scotch, wincing at the strength of the alcohol and setting down the glass on a counter top. Ok so maybe mixing it with antidepressants was less than brilliant but she could do with a decent amount of numbness right now.

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“I deduced you didn’t invite yourself here for the conversation,” he answered, his eyes on her almost naked body. “Come here.”

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She turned her head to the left just as he bent to kiss her, which made said kiss end up on the corner of her mouth. She ran her hand through his hair and started nipping at the column of his neck, wanting to avoid any more semblance of tenderness. Her hands darted towards his belt, which she began unbuckling. 

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“Not interested in the kissing either, I see.” More engrossed than offended, he let her finish, then went on to undress until he was facing her in nothing but his boxer briefs. He was beautifully muscled and reasonably well proportioned as far as she could tell. He pointed in the direction of the hallway, never taking his eyes from hers.

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“Bedroom’s that way. I think I’d like to fuck you now, since it seems to be what’s on both our minds tonight.”

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She let herself be led to the edge of the bed, sat down and looked up. She needed to see his face, because she knew whose would appear were she to close her eyes. Derek was promising as far as hook-ups went, tall, witty, smelled nice, so it should definitely have done something more to her when he took his briefs off, gripped himself and stroked his length lazily while grabbing a condom out of the nightstand.

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“Spread your legs. I want to watch you touch yourself,” he ordered.

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Rey did as asked, feeling his hungry gaze taking it all in, her breath hitching in anticipation. This was exactly what she needed, a good and solid shag to get everything else out of her system.

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He kneed her legs wider apart and lowered himself on top of her. She gasped when she felt him inch inside. He muttered into her shoulder blade, something along the lines of “so fucking tight”, “gonna finish me off so fast” and pushed deeper. After a few moments to adjust their bodies, he began moving, leisurely at first, while placing wet kisses to the spot under her ear.

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“Harder,” she said breathlessly. She needed this to be over quickly, she didn’t want to have time to forget that the hair she was gripping was light, not raven, that the shoulders she was clinging to were not broad enough to engulf her completely, that the eyes looking into hers were more glazed over than intense.

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His thrusts became more fervent, his grip on her hips stronger. He was doing it right, touching her in all the right places, both inside and out, speaking the correct words (“so fucking beautiful”, “so tight”, “gonna fuck you into this mattress”). It felt good, she had forgotten sex could feel nice. There was a tightness in her lower abdomen, pleasant but not building. She needed something more, something she refused to let herself take. She could bloody well come from screwing a perfectly hot stranger without thinking about some very familiar shitbag in the process. She knew that if she crossed that bridge there would be no going back and she would have to accept whatever spot the jerk threatened to occupy inside her head.

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It was when he flipped her to her stomach that her resolve began to crack. She fought against her stupid mind, trying hard not to imagine it was Ben Solo fucking into her from behind, his huge hand loosely around her throat, his breath on her nape, whispering filth into her hair. For all the fight, the frustration and humiliation, when she finally came, it was to Ben’s low rumble inside her head “Such a good girl ... now you get to come for me.” 

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Derek followed soon after, crashing beside her on the bed.

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She fought a sudden urge to cry. She had just had sex and thought about Ben while doing it. Between the alcohol and the naked man fondling her ass, this wasn’t something she could reasonably handle right now. “Well, that was fun,” she said in the cheeriest tone she managed to muster. “It’s getting late though, so I’m just gonna grab my stuff and let you get some sleep.”

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“I have the feeling exchanging numbers is off the table.” He watched as she removed herself from his sheets.

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“Well if it’s any consolation, it’s got nothing to do with the sex. Which was great, by the way. It kinda never was. On the table. Changing numbers, I mean.” She sighed. “Not looking for second dates right now.”

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“I know you’re not. You’re looking for revenge sex.”

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“Beg your pardon?”

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“I’m not an idiot, sweetheart, you ditched me to blissfully swirl away on Solo’s arm only to come back fifteen minutes later in a rage, dragging me home so that I could casually fuck you senseless. You dare tell me all this wasn’t to spite him? Seemed to work though, judging from the daggers he was shooting in my direction when we left. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, never felt this good to be used in my life.” He gave her a smug smile and folded his arms behind his head.

__

“Could do better though if you ask me. Heard he’s all prim and proper now but a tiger doesn’t really change its stripes, does it?”

__

“Good thing I didn’t ask then. Might have put a damper on our evening.” She threw him a sly look before heading towards the door.

__

“In any case, pleasure doing business with you, Derek.”

__

“Anytime, Rey.”

__


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://1001beach.com/img/posts/1677/1200/kijkduin-6.jpg

The beach in November should have been a mediocre idea, by any standards. Nonetheless, they happened to be in The Hague. On a Sunday afternoon. The only sunny afternoon in two months, the hotel clerk had gloomily mused while jotting down directions for Kijkduin.

Ben sighed as he clambered out of the bus, a bit nauseous from the ride and silently cursing whoever had spawned the brilliant idea of using public transportation on a weekend in the Netherlands. The whole thing had been reckless and moronic, so it had ostensively been Poe. There had been either no buses for ages or four of them at the same time, all the signs written in Dutch, which none of them spoke, the ride cramped and the driver’s manner best described as road rage.

He had let himself get swept away on this little road trip at the last moment, convinced he couldn’t stand either Hux’s tour OCD or drinking alone in a hotel bar for another day. Most of the crew had left earlier to visit Madurodam, upon which Finn and Poe brusquely declared that they had done enough sightseeing for the decade and that the only physical activity they would even contemplate was loafing around the sand and dodging seagulls if need arose. They quickly coaxed Rey into jumping ship; Rose and Jessika followed suit after being credibly assured there would be alcohol involved.

He had glared at Poe when the latter had pointed a finger in his face while insultingly insisting that “you could use the sun too, Solo, considering how you look like having freshly crawled out of your coffin” but had dragged along nonetheless.

He would have liked it better if his willingness to embark on the worst-organized field trip in tourist history had nothing to do with the freckled brunette now gliding down the wooden steps towards to the dunes. She was animatedly conversing with Rose, recounting something about the horrors of Dutch cuisine as he trailed slightly behind the group, catching bits and pieces. 

“I rather liked those herrings in Amsterdam”, “yeah but the soup was disgusting”, “maybe we’ll eat better in Frankfurt, the wurst is supposed to be stellar”, “better be, because the hotdogs in Utrecht tasted like they were literally made out of dogs”, “holy fuck, do you think they were?!”

A shiver went across his spine when he heard her laugh. It was crisp, and fresh, and uncompromising, and just so ... her. She was getting better, he thought. It made him strangely happy.

The beach itself had possibly been worth the hassle, stretching for miles of white sand, uncrowded and peaceful apart from the odd wave splash or dog bark. A robust breeze blustered through his hair and the sand felt soft beneath his feet and it felt liberating. Too used to walking in New York and the confinement of the performance halls, he found himself actually enjoying the openness of the space, the serenity of not being in control for once. The sea and sand would be in the same place tomorrow and in fifty years, unmoved by anyone’s mistakes or whims; this was something he couldn’t find a way to screw up.

His momentary bliss was interrupted by his companions’ loud frolicking and he looked out in time to see Rey being dragged towards the water by a beaming Finn, who had discarded his shoes and was trying to get her to join in his heroic dip. She laughed even harder when he splashed some water in her direction, while trying to escape the ruckus, and she was beautiful. He watched as she ran away from the shore, locks falling from her bun, completely disheveled, eyes wide with exhilaration and awe as they met his. He would have to tread carefully in the murky waters of those eyes, he told himself. _You know what will happen otherwise, don’t you?_ He knew.

He would ignore the blazing alarm lights that were currently blaring in his head, he would forget all but the fact that he was lonely and so was she, he would let himself see her as a sexual being, not his lead dancer, not his employee. Then he would fall in love with her, like the biggest idiot on the planet.

He remembered the party, how small and fierce she had felt in his arms, and how he had felt torn between the urge to either cocoon her protectively or bend her over the nearest table. 

Rather inelegant thoughts to have concerning one’s staff. Who happened to be ten years younger than him. He knew, because he had checked the recruitment forms. Not that his indiscretion had anything to do with the way she would bite her lower lip whenever she focused. Or the blush that went all the way down to her neckline whenever he gave her a particularly aggressive look. Or how that damn dress had hugged the curve of her ass, which she had happily flaunted in his face while taking off with fucking Klivian of all people. Maybe it had been for the best that Hux’s monumental gaffe would shatter their shared moment on the dance floor and remind him that though he may be many things, lewd boss was not among them. She was free to sleep with whoever she chose and he had absolutely no right to feel pissed, except he had felt not only pissed but murderous and it had taken all of his restraint to keep from tearing the blond fuck’s limbs straight off. That would have probably lost some PR points. Probably.

Oblivious to his mental diarrhea, Rey kept his gaze until she plopped herself onto the sand, turning her back at him and facing the sea. He knew he shouldn’t, but for the first time in years, he was tired of continually considering the consequences of his actions. He sat next to her on the warm sand because it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do just then. Talking to her in public wasn’t lewd boss material. Again, probably.

There was still a trace of a smile when she looked at him, cheeks flushed from the effort, hair blowing in the wind.

“Well, you just made me lose a bet with myself,” she said.

“How’s that?”

“Benjamin Solo, sitting his designer jeans-clad ass on the ground.”

“It’s technically sand.”

“Still impressive,” she shrugged offhandedly. “You even have sand in your hair, you look positively savage.”

He bit back a scathing comment which could have tangentially been classified as flirting and decided to keep things neutral. “How’re you coping with being on tour?”

“I like it, to be frank. I’ve never been to the continent, literally everything is new to me here.”

“You seem in a better place. Today was actually the first time I’ve heard you laugh.” So much for neutral.

She looked at him as if realization struck her, then spoke in little more than a whisper. “Well, um ... It may have been the first time in a while. I was ... happy today, I think. It feels odd.”

“It shouldn’t. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness. Unfortunately some get to blow theirs time and time again, while some are given none.”

“Are you? Happy?”

“I don’t think I know what that means anymore. Life has changed for me so many times I can’t really tell what normalcy is nowadays. I feel motivated, which means there’s drive behind my actions. I like what I do. It makes me proud when things work out the way I imagine them. There are many things I still want.” His voice came out huskier than he had intended, and when he glanced at her, he could swear he caught a glimpse of her eyes slightly widening before she looked away.

“As for everyday happiness, if that was your question, I don’t know how to give you an honest answer.”

It was Rey who broke the protracted silence that followed. “Whose idea was it? To start the company?”

“It was Poe’s. We were both piss drunk and I think a little high but the moment he said it, it felt right.” 

There was a pang of nostalgia as he remembered the sense of purpose he had felt.

“Don’t think I ever jumped at a chance as fast as I did then. Cleared out all my savings and the insurance benefits to buy the theatre. Sponsors paid for the rest.”

“Insurance?”

“While dancing for the First Order, my medical insurance also covered incapacity from injury. When I wasn’t cleared to return to the stage after the accident they paid a lot of money. I insisted that our dancers have one as well. It gave me the chance at a new life, seems only fair you all have the same.”

“Well that’s the second bet I lose today,” she sighed theatrically.

“Is it?”

“I could have sworn you bought the theatre using your trust fund or some equally classist stipend.”

“No, I actually donated my trust fund.” He shouldn’t have told her. It was private and it had meant something to him and he was giving it away just so he could prove her assumptions wrong. Her terribly prejudiced assumptions, in his defense.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Yes, I often use that line to pick up dates as well. I have this whole impoverished artist act figured out. Works as a charm.”

“It’s not as if you’re exactly broke.”

“Not rich either, not anymore anyway. We reinvest a big part of our profit, Poe and I. It’s a very volatile business, if you’ll ever witness one of Hux’s manic streaks, you’ll learn that every dollar counts.”

He could see her struggle with the question before curiosity finally got the best of her. “Who did you donate it to?”

“The Children’s Oncology Group,” he answered quietly, than added a bit awkwardly, as if he felt the need to justify: “They do really sound research.”

To her credit, Rey sensed his discomfort and spun the mood around towards a more lighthearted direction. “Would have pegged you for a whale type of donor,” she teased.

“I like to think I have my priorities in order.”

She snorted a little at his answer. “Do you even like kids?”

“I do, actually.” He involuntarily smiled and her face softened and he had to look away. “Having a kid may be the one meaningful thing I could accomplish in this sorry excuse of a life I’ve led. The rest of it is all smoke and mirrors,” he added, rather bitterly.

“Well, Ben Solo, you’re full of surprises, I’ll give you that.” She was looking at him with those damn doe eyes again, like she was just seeing him for the first time, like there was still some trace of hope for him somewhere. Great. Just what he needed. For her to grow expectations he would indubitably find a foolproof way to fail.

He cleared his voice before speaking again. “You know, we never talked about what happened at that party.”

“What’s there to talk about? Hux couldn’t have said it better, there’s scruples and than there’s money.” There was an edge to the lilt of her voice. She was clearly bothered by the distasteful affair, even now.

“He did come to me with the idea, that I introduce you to the public after the welcome speech Poe and I made, and that one of us open the dance with you. I refused. Told him we weren’t doing pay per view.”

“So what made you change your mind?”

“You did. I asked you to dance with me because it was something I wanted to do.”

She shook her head dismissively. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” _You were beautiful. And sad. And I wanted to take it all away_.

“You still didn’t tell me why.”

“Why do people dance, Rey?”

“To disappear into something bigger than themselves.”

 _Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire_ , George Bernard Shaw had once said. Is that what he had meant to disappear into? Lust? Togetherness?

“To forget. To connect. To feel less alone.”

“You have an army of people around you everyday, Ben. They love and respect you, even if they’re scared of you half the time. You know you’re not alone.”

“I guess I wanted to remind you that neither were you.”

Something passed between the two of them, something light and airy, and she was opening her mouth to speak again when Poe bulldozed his way towards them, hollering about getting drinks on the pier.


	15. Chapter 15

Poe followed Finn into the enormous room, holding back the slew of epithets he felt like throwing at Hux for having dragged them to the damn thing. The Vanderbilt Christmas Gala was a mammoth event. In 10 minutes he had spotted two Academy Award recipients, the Secretary of State, and had queued behind Jay-Z while waiting to check his coat. It was a spectacle in itself.

As opposed to Ben, he had always enjoyed the spotlight, but not the pretentious social interaction that came with white-tie events. When he did whine about preferring to celebrate at the pub with the rest of the crew, Hux had rolled his eyes and reminded him that one did not afford to discard cost-free publicity if one belongs to the middle class. He would have to bravely suck it up and take one for the team, eat the freaking caviar, drink the vintage Louis Roederer and stick his opinions up his ass.

They had received individual invitations, Ben, Hux and both Rey and himself as principal dancers. He had decided to take Finn as his plus one, as he felt it was about time to make their relationship public. The company all knew, of course, but he was getting tired of public speculation concerning his private life.

Hux had brought an insipid blond socialite, whose mile-long legs and obscenely low-cut gown made up for her lacking in all other departments. Ben and Rey had both come alone. Since no detail seemed beneath their ever-worthy manager, he had initially urged them both to find a last-minute date. After their firm refusal and several thinly-veiled insults he recoiled and convinced himself it was all for the better anyway.

“They’re gonna think you came together, which is even better.”

They hadn’t come together, as it was, but ever since the redhead planted the seed, Poe found himself somewhat bugged by the thought. Things had been moving at such speed for them all, with the intense autumn season in New York, their dash to Europe and the three new pieces they were developing for the spring, that he really hadn’t taken the time to observe the dynamic between the two. 

Rey was obviously doing remarkably well. He knew she was still seeing Amilyn, for which he was grateful to no end. The change had been gradual but evident. She had put on a bit of weight, not much but enough for her to look healthily slender and less like a victim of starvation. Her interactions were smoother, and as it turned out she was actually fun to hang out with. She was witty, had a blunt sense of humor and was generally brutally honest, which was refreshing and comforting at the same time. Poe found he genuinely liked his co-lead. A bubbly sort of friendship had been struck up between Finn, Rose and herself, the girls frequently crashing on the couch at their place for drinks or movie nights.

As for Ben, well ... he was being Ben.

They looked at each other a lot, but not necessarily longingly. Ben was still haughty and intense, Rey still scowled a lot, but they had shifted somewhat in their interactions. They still fought, but come to think of it, their insults had grown into something less personal, less hurtful. It resembled the way he and Ben would gratuitously exchange barbs from the “you dick” or “jackass” repertoire. 

They also spoke more. Bits of meaningless conversation here and there but it wasn’t something Ben usually did. Maybe he just liked that she wasn’t in the least afraid of him and hadn’t set him on a pedestal like the others had. She treated him very casually, as you would an equal, not a superior.

So was there something else building? He couldn’t decide if he should be hopeful or concerned. They were good people. They had both had their fair share of pain, even though the only story he knew was Ben’s. They both deserved a break. A chance to fall in love. But was it a good idea if they fell in love with one another? Could they find balance between the two of them or would they crash and burn?

Poe pushed back his thoughts as he located the others close to the bar and smiled to himself. Rey was lovely. She was wearing a long white gown he knew she had rented for the night on Rose’s always pertinent advice. It was frilled and airy and it contrasted charmingly with her tanned skin. There was no shortage of people who downright stared. She was however blissfully unaware of the attention she was drawing to herself and was diligently trying to engage Hux’s date into a conversation of sorts. Trying and failing miserably by the look on both their faces. Ben was being harassed by a media mogul and his wife, the fake smile failing to hide his growing discomfort.

They somehow managed to navigate the evening quite efficiently. He flirted, Rey delighted, Ben brooded, Hux lobbied and Finn managed to hold down both the champagne and the blue cheese.

He was ready to declare the event as passable after all, when disaster struck in the form of a tiny figure gliding elegantly towards their group. He instantly looked over to Ben. He had seen her too; it took three seconds for his face to become void of any expression, ask Rey, who was sitting closest to him if she wanted anything from the bar and leave as quickly as his dignity allowed.

_Why in the fucking name of fuck’s sake is she coming over? She could be headed somewhere else. Like the restroom. To plan the President’s public execution. There’s still a chance she hasn’t seen us. Maybe I can hide behind Finn. Or stab Hux with the butter knife and disappear in the commotion._

“Hello, Poe. How very nice to see you tonight.”

Damn.

“Good evening, Senator. You look ravishing as always,” he put all his charm behind his words, a most dashing grin on his face and prayed to the Universe that she wouldn’t be able to sniff his panic.

“You’re just as full of shit as always. And I’ve told you time and again to call me Leia” She smirked at him shrewdly, then turned to the group.

His manners abruptly kicked in and proceeded to make introductions. “Senator, may I present my partner, Finn Storm, Resistance’s manager Armitage Hux and his friend Caprice ... umm.”

“Oh, it’s just Caprice,” she beamed. “You know, like Cher.”

“Right.” A reality show. This it what this was. A frigging reality show. “Great. Um, this is Rey Kenobi, our principal dancer as of this season. Everyone, meet Senator Organa-Solo. She’s been quite the supporter of young artists in recent years, I don’t think I know of anyone who managed to send so many talented kids to school in such a short amount of time.”

“Forgot Ben’s reprobate mother. Saw he managed to take off before I could hobble over here.”

They all fidgeted uncomfortably, except for Hux’s date, who clasped her hands excitedly and chirped “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re Ben Solo’s mom, you must be so proud of him! Guess you’re both super excited for Christmas dinner, it must be such a fun event at your house!”

He choked on his drink, then and there, and please God let this be the death of him. To her credit, Leia took it in stride, her always graceful smile unfaltering, but before she could answer, Hux chimed in and rose to his reputation in crisis management.

“Darling, I think they just restocked that wonderful terrine you missed at the buffet. Care to join me?” 

“Oh, I would love some terrine,” Finn blurted out to general astonishment, after he had previously spit the thing up grumbling that minced organs belonged in cat food, not charity gala dinners.

The three of them bid farewell and made a hasty exit, leaving Poe and Rey to entertain Leia. Either ignoring or oblivious to their discomfiture, she shot them a most cheerful smile and turned her attention to the younger woman.

“So happy to finally meet you, Rey. My whimsical brother blabbed about you for days after you dropped by the foundation. ”

“Oh, I’m surprised he remembered me at all, to be honest. Is he here?”

“Heavens, no. Not his thing, galas. Too much new money per square meter, as he puts it. Not that old money is any better in my book but we all knew the game when we chose it, didn’t we?”

Poe couldn’t help quip “Yeah, I wish I could tell you I only came for the food but really Hux threatened to carve off some very essential body parts if I didn’t so I decided to give up my self-esteem instead.”

Both Rey and Leia laughed a bit at that. Before being able to follow on his momentary decision to bore Leia with bad jokes until she decided to leave, she once again addressed Rey.

“So Rey dear, tell me how things are like for you at the Resistance. Are they treating you well? I personally amended half the workers’ rights legislation in this damn country so don’t hesitate to spill the beans. Dameron here may find I cam make threats that’ll make Hux sound like a motivational speaker if they mistreat their dancers.”

Yeah, because why not? Between Ben, Hux and himself, it was obviously him who was most likely to be guilty of worker’s rights violations.

“No, I assure you he’s quite mellow,” Rey quickly jumped to his defense. “Hux is all bark and no bite, what scares me most is that he’s going to give himself a heart attack one of these days. Everyone else has been really great, I don’t know how they managed to round up such a team but I for one have felt very welcome from the beginning. It’s been quite the adventure.”

“And what about my elusive son? Surely he must have somewhat more bite to his bark,” she teased.

“I’d say he treats us all rather fairly.” She then stuttered to change the subject as fast as she could. “Which one of the season’s performances do you prefer?”

“I couldn’t really say, as I haven’t had the chance to attend any.” _That sums it up pretty well. Just need to insert the “anything my son ever danced in or choreographed.”_

“Right, so silly of me, you must be a very busy woman. I’m personally partial to Salida del Sol, it has the same vibe as Ben’s Alabaster series, did you like that one?”

“Haven’t been to that one either, unfortunately.” Leia’s voice was a bit clipped while giving the same answer to different questions. 

“Oh, I see. Well surely you must have a favorite, after all he’s been rather prolific these past few years, you must have seen at least some of his work.” Rey insisted, a bit more hesitant this time.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear, but I really can’t say that I have.” _Nope, that you really can’t do._

Rey’s eyes widened while her jaw fell slightly agape, but surprise quickly morphed into outrage. “You can’t be serious. He’s a MacArthur Grant recipient, his choreographed works are basically classic material.”

“I always assumed I wouldn’t be welcome if I came.” There was some sadness but mostly resignation in Leia’s eyes.

Rey’s cheeks however flushed and she worked her jaw for a moment before speaking: “You know, I never knew my parents, Senator, so my opinion on the subject is most certainly null and void, but I’m going to voice it, anyway. When I still gave a damn if they were alive or dead, I dreamt that one day I would go on stage and they would be in the crowd, watching. It was all for a very prosaic reason, of course. I never cared if they would be proud or fall in love with me or regret giving me up. I have this theory that abandonment reduces children’s needs to a bare minimum. They might dream to be loved, or praised, or cherished, but it’s not a base need anymore. They only need to be seen. It’s ultimately the most essential form of respect for a human being. That we be acknowledged. That someone notices we exist.” She stopped to draw her breath after her ardent tirade, pinning the Senator with the most glacial of glares So maybe you should stop by sometime, surely no one is going to bar a Senator entry to a theatre hall. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Ben is waiting for me at the bar. Pleasure talking to you.”

Poe struggled to find something to say as they watched Rey’s back walking away from them, but as always she beat him to it.

“Oh, I like her.” To his astonishment, she wasn’t angry at being spoken to like that by people of lesser stature. She seemed more ... intrigued? “Please do tell me they’re sleeping together.”

Poe pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t paid nearly enough for this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, it's a really busy time so I may have to post a new chapter every other week for a while.  
> Hope you don't mind the minimalistic style of this update, felt right to write it in dialogue.  
> Please leave a comment if you can spare a minute, I always love to have some feedback.

“And then she casually admitted that she hadn’t seen any of his work! A person of her status and supposed involvement in the performing arts, I would have died of shame in her place. She has intentionally snubbed an entire artistic movement simply because it was her son receiving the awards for it! I swear to God, it made me wonder how tragic being a foster child really was.”

Rey bitterly tossed the candy bar back in its bowl. “I’m not even hungry anymore.”

Amilyn continued watching her intently and did her utter best to use a most diplomatic tone when she spoke. “You seem upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. This is fucking upsetting. It’s a matter of principle.”

She fought her impending smile. “Oh ... you’re philosophically upset.”

Rey scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well to be honest, it feels like the Senator’s insult was not as much an intellectual as a ... personal one.” This caused the younger woman’s eyebrows to shoot straight up.

“Darling, don’t give me that look, neither of us is an idiot. Please don’t act like this isn’t about Ben, because it clearly is. You’re taking his side. Which I must say is very exciting as it is an absolute first.” Amilyn couldn’t help a satisfied grin. She was starting to understand Ben’s proclivity for provoking Rey, she really was adorable when outraged.

“No, actually it’s _absolute_ bullshit because I am _absolutely_ not taking his side! I’m simply revolted by that poor excuse of a mother.” 

“Oh, but _actually_ , you are. I followed everything you said, I was curious if it had been the feeling of shared abandonment that set you off but it wasn’t. You’re not offended that a mother is disregarding and indifferent to the achievements of her child, it’s the fact that it’s his mother that bothers you. Don’t even think to argue, your exact words were: _he is objectively brilliant, it’s impossible for any sane mother to ignore his achievements._ ”

Rey pursed her lips obviously considering another lie.

“Alright say you’re not completely delusional.” She finally grumbled. “What of it?”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just noticing a change.”

_You’re changing. You’re not numb anymore. You’re beginning to feel again. You’re getting better._

“In your attitude towards him. Come on, Rey, you can’t realistically believe I forgot that the first time you came to see me was in the aftermath of what had practically been a fistfight.”

“Which he lost!”

“Now you’re just being childish.”

As if to prove her completely right, her very much grown-up client dove into the bowl of candy to reclaim her treat and settled to morosely savor it on the couch, all while pouting like a toddler before bedtime.

Amilyn placed her elbows on her knees and unassumingly set her chin on her interlaced fingers. “You talk about him a lot nowadays, you know,” she casually remarked.

“Of course I talk about him, he’s the most infuriating person I know.” Rey answered with a chocolate-full mouth.

“I thought that that title belonged to Leia for not being properly supportive of her offspring.”

“Are you trying to become the challenger? You’ve got really great odds right now.” She managed to swallow her last bite and defiantly crossed her arms across her chest. “I talk about a lot of people, you know. Last time we talked about Poe and Finn and how their sex life is both too much noise and information than I can comfortably stomach whenever we get adjoining hotel rooms.”

“We also talked about how Ben made you practice for two extra hours after rehearsal so you missed the last train and he had to drive you home. Again.”

She scoffed disdainfully. “Which I hate, because he always listens to that indie rock shit and doesn’t let me eat inside his car. I swear to God, that thing is cleaner than my mouth.”

“That sounds awful indeed.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm that rolled off her tongue. “But then if I recall correctly you complained that there was nothing left in your fridge to eat without risking food poisoning, so he made a detour so you could get takeout.”

“...”

“Right. And the week before that we talked about how he insisted you work alongside Maz for that experimental piece you’ll be performing at the San Francisco festival.”

“Jesus, he was impossibly pushy about it. He was on my case for two weeks before I finally gave in out of pure exhaustion. He exhausted me into agreeing.”

“And he surely did it to annoy you, not because he thought your voice ought to be heard. No, I’m not finished speaking as it is, but thank you for bearing with me.” Rey now looked positively livid, the protests dying in her throat.

“And before that you had just found out about the two-month tour across Europe and instead of thinking how you would be visiting fifteen new countries over eight weeks, your first thought was that Ben’s temper was going to be shit because he was always in a bad mood when he was exhausted.”

“You know, I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned that you actually pay attention to all the crap I say.”

“Well my rates aren’t exactly affordable, wouldn’t want my wasting Ben’s money on your list of weekly concerns.” She blinked benignly as a saccharine smile spread across her features.

“I’m not sure I like you anymore.”

“Honey, if only I had a nickel for every time I heard that, I’d be having this conversation over Skype with my feet dipping somewhere in the Indian Ocean ... Anyway I think we can safely say we’ve established he’s become an important presence in your life.”

Her client shrugged and let out another scoff. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It could.”

“Really? And what exactly could it mean then?” Rey’s tone was rather provocative, as if keen to pick a fight.

“Many things. That you like him. That despite your bickering you want him to be your friend. That you’re sexually attracted to him. That he intrigues you. That you want to get to know more of him. That you identify with his grief. For which you feel empathy and compassion. That you feel like you could share your own. I’m not saying it does mean any of the things I counted off the top of my head, just that it could, if you allowed it to.”

She rose to get a glass of water. Her throat was dry from her rapid rant, but she sometimes needed to get everything out before her mercurial interlocutor could interrupt. When she turned around, Rey was looking at the floor, rather like intensely weighing her next words.

“Yeah, but I don’t want it to. Mean something.”

“Why not?”

“What would the point of it be? ” She finally looked up, more sad than irritated. “Of course I’m fucking attracted to him, I’m neither blind nor comatose. Didn’t know I had a type but tall, dark and sullen seems to be it.”

“Noted, but still not answering my question.”

“Amilyn, have you ever seen the women he would date? Those were models and actors and they were all gorgeous and red-carpet-y. Great, now please look at me. I wear vintage, which is Greenwich Village slang for cheap, my hair looks like a family of pigeons just nested in it and I barely know the difference between foundation and mascara. Trust me, he’s not interested.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The words left her without filter. How very unprofessional. However, so very true. She knew Ben Solo too well. And he did not carpool. He most definitely did not to make detours for takeout. He did not insist on staff accepting professional opportunities against their free will.

“Rey, so what if you did?” She quickly deflected, leading the conversation in another direction. “Let yourself be physically attracted to him? He’s an attractive guy by any standards. You’re both adults, unengaged and capable of consent. Why would that be so bad?”

“Because I don’t just want to sleep with him!” Rey practically shouted her answer. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t know what I want but it’s more than sex. And I know for a fact that he won’t give me anything else. Maybe he would fuck me if I asked nicely and then what do you think is going to happen? He’ll just fucking leave like everyone ever did.” Tears were welling up, and she was fighting to keep them at bay.

“I have a question for you, Rey. Do you think you’re operating out of conviction or operating out of fear? Do you really believe that developing feelings for Ben is a bad idea because you are convinced they would be unrequited? Or are you afraid of the possibility they might be answered?”

“Both.”

“Which means you’re certain that something good could never happen to you, and that if it did it would be taken away.”

“I’ve never been wrong before.” She wiped her eyes and held Amilyn’s gaze with resignation.

“I hope you know this conversation has nothing to do with Ben Solo, or the fact that I happen to know him and personally believe that he may be more interested in you than you consider him to be. It could have been virtually anyone else instead; this is strictly about you, Rey, and the way you perceive yourself. There is a psychological phenomenon many successful people suffer from.”

“I would hardly call myself successful,” she interrupted.

“Last month they wrote about you in The New Yorker, honey, I beg to differ.”

There was bitterness and acceptance weaved into Rey’s answer. “It’s not real, and it’s not lasting. It’s a matter of time until one bad review makes every one of them realize you’re actually not all that talented and it was really the composition or the music or the newness and that they never truly liked your dancing all along.”

“There is a name for the picture your words are painting and we call it impostor syndrome. You feel as if you’re pressured to perform your best at all times while knowing beforehand that you will never be enough. You keep looking for potential threats and rely on your anger and isolation to keep afloat. You are ashamed when help is offered. The error in this line of thought is that your worth is inherent, Rey. Achievements don’t reflect your value as a person. Failure is an opportunity to learn.”

Rey watched her attentively but remained silent. She went on.

“Name one thing you control and one you don’t.”

“I have control over my thoughts but not my feelings,” she tentatively spoke.

“Nor the thoughts and feelings of others. Nor are they in any way your responsibility. Whose voice are you hearing inside your head, Rey?”

_Who was it that hurt you so badly?_

“Are you able to seek your own approval instead of theirs? Because there will be triumph in the moment you choose to disappoint another instead of disappointing yourself.”

_Will you learn to look ahead instead of behind you?_

“Let me put this another way. What are you connected to that is bigger than you are? What do you believe in that is worthy of your effort and attention?”

“Purpose. Rhythm. Belonging.”

“Which is why you became a dancer. Because you feel it is where you belong.”

“I do. I did. I ... just don’t know if it’s who I want to be anymore.”

“And I don’t think it’s right to let it become your definition of self. What kind of _person_ do you want to be?”

“I want to be free. I want to be able to live in the present, be brave, sleep well, notice more, breathe deeply, be genuinely curious, avoid bad company, know when to move on, keep things simple and learn how to love.” She smiled sadly, as if it were already out of her reach.

“Interesting choice of words. It was Maya Angelou who said that love is liberating. It frees you to be your authentic self. Oh, honey ... the belonging you seek is ahead ... you have the rest of your life to find it.”

Tears started coating Rey’s cheeks and she covered her face with one hand, the other fisted in her lap.

“These are your first steps, Rey, but this isn’t a before and after story. Healing is a lifelong exercise; there is no arrival, no destination, no point when it’s completed. It’s something you’ll be needing to do over and over again. It’s neither linear nor comparable. It’s not always obvious. Sometimes it’s quiet and unassuming. Recovery from trauma comes not when you lack symptoms, but when you know how to handle them and show yourself kindness. Avoiding your pain, however, is something that may keep you from achieving this.”

Amilyn paused to catch her breath and take in the woman in front of her, who was now quietly sobbing and waited for her to look into her eyes. _Today she would be brave enough._

“So what do you say, Rey ... are you ready to talk about why you left England?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, sorry for the huge gap in my posting timeline. Don't quit on this story, I promise it won't be abandoned!

_Siena, March_

When the last drop of the overly bitter tonic water failed to quell the churn in her stomach, Rey concluded she was still jet-lagged. They had landed in Rome one week earlier, slowly working their way north through Umbria, to now find herself traipsing along a cobbled street in Siena. To her surprise, it had been Ben who had suggested the detour, arguing that two days was all he could stomach in the tourist trap Florence had turned into: “I loved it the first few times, now it’s just like Venice, it’s only bearable during winter.”

He came up right behind her as she squinted at the bright opening up ahead.

“Go on, we’re almost there,” he gave her a gentle push.

The tiny street opened into an enormous open space, light flooding in from all around. Tall buildings in warm colors bordered the square from every side, making her feel cuddled by the warmth they reflected. It was an odd shape, she thought looking around, the brickwork of the pavement divided into several diverging sections, fanning out from somewhere, recreating a sort of shell-like form. Irregular. Refreshing in its imperfect shape.

“It’s called Piazza del Campo.” Ben’s tall silhouette came to stand beside her as she basked in the sun, and she looked up. He was beautiful, she thought to herself. Almost smiling, calm, unhurried. 

She allowed herself a moment to breathe him in along with the place. To wonder ... could Amilyn have had a point? Had she sparked his interest in some way? It was something she’d never considered. To her, it had always been an unfortunate crush complicating an already rocky working relation. To entertain the possibility of him somehow reciprocating was far worse, for it opened an entirely new set of problems. A mutual whatever-that-was with Ben Solo was something she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.

“They ride horses here, you know,” Ben drawled, lazily unhooking his sunglasses from his t-shirt and putting them on.

“You’re joking.”

“Il Palio. They hold it twice each summer. Never been to one but heard it’s quite the loony show. The planning takes weeks but the race itself lasts for only about 90 seconds.”

Hux ignored them completely as he brushed past Rey, deeply engrossed in reciting dates and names of Popes to a deeply bored-looking Rose. The others had scattered across the old town, browsing quaint little shops and gobbling down gelatos. It was early afternoon and everyone seemed to be moving at a sluggish pace, a delicious sort of languor having settled over the locals.

“Do you think the horses know?” Rey quietly asked, her eyes roaming over the landmark. “That they are running in circles. Or do they fall for the illusion of freedom?”

“Do we?” Ben snorted, equally surveying their surroundings.

“As for answering the question with a question, yours pretty much sums up life as I know it. You know, the first thing I ever learnt about it was that in the Palio, the runner up is considered to be the loser of the race.”

“You’re right,” Rey sighed, another bout of nausea threatening to ruin her peaceful moment. “It _is_ just like life.”

_Bologna, March_

It was a chilly Tuesday and Rey was running on a post-rehearsal high, desperately trying not to freak out. Ben was taking her to lunch. 

They had been brusquely separated from the group because she had insisted on a quick tour of the Palazzo that was housing their evening performance, fascinated by the frescoes and the painted windows. They had just stepped out when he most nonchalantly threw the invitation in her face i.e. _“It’s fucking freezing, want to get something to eat before turning back? I know a place.”_

She swallowed the mortified “just the two of us?” that was threatening to roll off her tongue and managed an unimpressed “Uh-huh” before she hurriedly followed him against the wind and why in God’s name were his legs so long?

When they finally found shelter in an archway, Rey’s jaw fell slightly slack as she saw at least 20 people queuing in front of an inconspicuous door with a sign above it reading “Trattoria Anna Maria”.

“Where the hell are we going? If this is one of those Michelin star Hux likes to go to, I’ll let you know I’m absolutely starving and some radishes on a stick or whatever flimsy excuse of a meal they serve isn’t gonna cut it.”

He actually chuckled at that, assuring her that the place most certainly did not serve vegetables lest they were part of some meat-heavy sauce.

“So all these people are waiting for a table? It’s gonna take forever for us to sit down.”

“No, they actually open at 12.30 sharp, everyone goes in at the same time.”

And so they did, couples and small groups of locals, talking loud and fast in Italian and casually greeting the staff like old friends.

“Buongiorno, un tavolo per due, per favore,” Ben spoke when it was their turn to sit, to her utmost astonishment.

“You speak Italian?”

“Just enough to order lunch. They’re very protective of their language, just like the French. It pays off to make an effort, even if my accent must be crap. I really hate the loud American tourist tag we get even before opening our mouths.”

They were led inside what must have been the coziest and most unassuming restaurant she had seen on the continent. Red tablecloths topped with white napkins covered the wooden tables and the walls were covered in old photos, thank you notes and autographs of past diners. She instantly melted into the heat of the place, the happy chattering of fellow patrons filling the room and emptying her mind.

“What do you feel like having?”

“Pasta of course,” she scoffed as she sat down. She refused to let a meal pass without the staple dish for the entirety of their stay in the country.

“Beef or seafood?”

“Surprise me.” This was good. Not awkward at all. Apart from the table being tiny and him being a damn ogre, because however hard she tried, their legs kept touching under the table. It wasn’t until later that she wondered why he made no effort to avoid it himself.

“Ha già deciso?” The elderly server who approached them seemed rather torn between amiable and annoyed.

“Prendiamo gli tagliatelle al ragu comme primo, poi voleamo un antipasto da dividere.”

“Certo. I secondi?”

“Vediamo dopo. Vorremo lasciare un posto per il deserto.”

“Va bene. Vuole bere qualcosa?”

“Una bottiglia di Sangiovese, faccia lei, per favore.”

The waiter nodded and left for the bar, obviously placated by Ben’s use of Italian, however poor.

Fourty minutes later, Rey sat back after what must have been the heartiest, most wholesome meal of her life. She had learnt that the pasta she had greedily devoured was in fact the notorious bolognese, although it would have been a tremendous faux pas to call it as such. “You might as well order cappuccino after lunch,” Ben told her amusedly, then patiently instructed her that milk in your coffee after breakfast was tantamount to high treason in Italy. The mortadella slices had been so thin they had melted in her mouth and they had to order a second round of focaccia because Rey had gobbled up most of the basket before the entree was even served.

“I am officially full to the brim. There is nothing more that can physically fit inside my stomach right now.”

“Mmm,” Ben mused pensively, “That’s a shame. The lemon gelato is the talk of the town.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Could have mentioned it before letting me stuff my face like a glutton.”

“I like the way you eat,” he laughed. “It reminds me there may be no tomorrow.”

She fidgeted a bit at the sight, not being able to recall if it was the first time she had made him laugh. It was rich and deep and made her want to touch the crinkles around his eyes.

“Fine,” she sighed resignedly, “bring on the damn gelato, might as well make sure you have to carry me home on a stretcher.”

A bit later, while almost shedding tears over the perfect scoop of the creamy desert that was assaulting all her senses, Rey noticed most of the people around waving and nodding towards a rather grumpy old lady seated alone at a corner table.

“Who do you think she is?”

“That’s Anna, of course. She opened this place after a nasty divorce and proved to a ridiculously patriarchal Bologna that women can be just as fierce businessmen as they can be stellar cooks. She runs it like a dragon, I can’t really tell if they love her or fear her most.”

Rey looked over again and smiled. Anna was watching her surroundings disinterestedly while lazily enjoying the exact same lunch they had.

_Bucharest, April_

Exhausted from the early flight from Zagreb and grumpy as fuck having just spent 10 dollars on what had been the worst cup of coffee in his life, Ben found it hard to decide if he liked or wanted to murder their Romanian liaison.

Tudor was tall, stout and olive-skinned, and if it weren’t for the intelligent spark in his eyes when he spoke, Ben would have pegged him for a clown. Well into his forties, the guy was a walking recital of anecdotes, stories and good humor. He had made a good job entertaining the others on the ride from the airport, but Ben had held his miserable ground. 

Had he been an honest person, he would have admitted that his sour mood mainly stemmed from somewhere entirely different: the fact that he had slept with Rey on the plane. As in literally dozed off, possibly snored, waked up to find Rey slightly drooling on his jumper. In his barely-awake state, he shifted and ended up grazing his lips on the crown of her head, in an accidental half-kiss that sent shivers down his spine. Her hair had been freshly washed and to his satisfaction, she smelt like sandalwood and vanilla; he had always hated overly-feminine scents. But she then fidgeted under his touch, crouching onto herself in a manner that completely opened her cleavage completely to his line of sight. She was wearing a black lace bra and because life is what it is, a soft moan escaped her sleeping lips. He was hard in seconds.

“There’s a visit scheduled at the Palace of Parliament but I’m not fucking taking you to that temple of shame,” Tudor announced. “We’ll be passing right by it though in a minute, feel free to gawk at the insanity from here.” There was obvious disgust in his voice, making Ben break the circle of gloom and ask his first question of the day: “Why the shame?”

“You need to look at it first. It’s just coming up on your right.”

Ben indeed found himself gawking against his will. The building was gigantic, spreading over several blocks, threatening and stern in its remoteness. There was really no way you could tear your eyes from it.

“What the hell is that?” Poe asked in a baffle, leaning over Rey to get a better look. They were all crammed in Tudor’s SUV, Poe having drawn the short straw to get the middle seat between Rey and Finn.

“The house of the Romanian Parliament. The crown jewel of Ceausescu. You’ve heard about our ‘beloved’ leader I presume, all foreigners know about this country is him and Dracula.” Tudor quipped from his driver’s seat.

Ben had heard of him, indeed. Didn’t know much, just that he had been the face of communism in the struggling post-war Romania.

“He’s the dead weight we all have to carry in this country. He ruled for almost a quarter of a century. In the beginning he hadn’t been worse that your average communist head but towards the end he had become literally insane. He wanted to build a new and improved Bucharest and wipe out whatever was left of Little Paris. To answer your question about shame, he razed an entire neighborhood to build the palace. Historic buildings, churches and synagogues, turned into rubble. Three thousand people died building it. All to make way for the Socialist dream.” 

There was bitterness and anger in his voice. “It took twenty-five years to wake up, but at least we shot him in the end. Maybe another hundred and we’ll no longer have ex-convicts running for public office anymore.”

He suddenly flipped to a cheerful tone once again, as if realizing he was discussing reproductive rights during Thanksgiving dinner.

“Alright so on a happier note, I’m not taking you there, I’m taking you to a very nice hotel to change, then to my favorite restaurant to eat some dinner and then out for drinks, Thursday is the new Friday after all.”

Minutes later they arrived at their hotel, an elegant mansion with tall oak trees and bay windows. While on the stairs towards the first floor where they were staying, Rey caught up with him and sheepishly offered an apology for having drooled all over his shoulder: “I have trouble sleeping but when I do, I sleep like a rock.” What wouldn’t he give for that kind of sleep.

When they reached their adjoining doors, she stopped and bemoaned, while grabbing her lower back: “On the downside, every muscle in my body hurts right now.”

And then she bent to stretch, until her head reached her knees, which made her oversized sweater slide down, exposing her spine and lower back. And ... he was hard again.

After grinding out a “see you in half an hour, I’m taking a shower,” he locked himself inside his room, chucked his clothes on the floor and did indeed head towards the shower, knowing exactly what he would be doing. His cock twitched in anticipation as he gripped himself, cursing and angry at the reaction she had triggered. He started pumping fast, determined to get this out of his system once and for all.

He was not a good person, he knew. A good person doesn’t get off on images of their staff. They don’t imagine how they would bend said member of staff over the bathroom vanity and grip her hair back, letting her suck on their fingers before shoving their hand down her lace panties to find her soaked. 

This was all it was, getting rid of this ridiculous thing he had going for her, so let it be quick. He imagined she would beg, whimpering with need when he would open her up with three digits and stroke her roughly with the heel of his hand.

He moaned as he squeezed the head of his cock and cupped his balls. She would be impossibly tight when he finally entered her, crying out as her pretty little cunt would stretch around him, but then she would ask him to go faster, fuck her harder. When she would be close, he would push his thumb inside her rear to push her even more, then she would clench around him like a vise and just like that, he climaxed so hard his vision clouded with dark spots.

He cleaned himself in the shower, less on edge but even angrier. It was done. Now he could get on living with the damn girl in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Italian:
> 
> “Ha già deciso?” "Have you decided?"  
> “Prendiamo gli tagliatelle al ragu comme primo, poi voleamo un antipasto da dividere.” "We'll have the tagliatelle al ragu for the first course, and we'd like an entree to share."  
> “Certo. I secondi?” "Of course. And for the second course?"  
> “Vediamo dopo. Vorremo lasciare un posto per il deserto.” "We'll see later. We'd like to leave some space for dessert."  
> “Va bene. Vuole bere qualcosa?” "Alright. Would you like something to drink?"  
> “Una bottiglia di Sangiovese, faccia lei, per favore.” "A bottle of Sangiovese, I'll leave it to you to choose, please."


	18. Chapter 18

_Luxembourg, April_

“This city is evil. Wait, is it a city? It’s a country right? It doesn’t even matter because whatever it is, it’s beyond reality known to man.” Rey paused mid-rant to gather her breath, somberly adding “This is it. We’ve reached the next stop. We’re officially in the Twilight Zone.”

Finn eyed her wearily. “Are you high? I don’t really think pot is legal here.”  
She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, I think they add it in the air conditioning on purpose. They’re all either high or on government-mandated Prozac prescriptions.”

“Elaborate,” Rose managed to utter between huge bites of her organic whole-wheat bagel. They were having brunch at some vegan hipster joint in the old town Finn had dug up on La Fourchette. Rey sighed before digging into the plump portobello burger she had ordered and didn’t hesitate to rattle on with her mouth full: “The cab driver that just dropped me off spoke five languages and owned horses for fuck’s sake, but still leisurely drove the cab, and I quote, to meet interesting people.”

“Now that you bring it up, it is a bit odd.” Finn pondered with a slight frown. “I went inside the Town Hall to find a loo and there was a big basket of apples in the lobby with a note literally saying ‘Take one, don’t forget to smile’.”

“When I tried to pay the bus fare, the driver told me there was no need.” Rey continued fuelling their dual hysteria. “I asked why. He looked at me like I had grown another head and reminded me, in perfect English I might add, that I was in Luxembourg, where all public transportation is free.”

“Poe and I went on a late-night date yesterday to catch a movie and when we came out of the theatre at midnight, I swear to God you could smell the forest.”

“The cashiers ask how your day’s going so far.”

“They _all_ smile.”

“I’m telling you, the country’s evil,” Rey sat back in her chair with a grim expression. “It’s like that horror movie with the little girl in the alternate reality where life was perfect except they all had buttons instead of eyes and then everyone died.”

Rose rolled her eyes “You’re both idiots. It was a Pixar movie for kids and no one died. It’s not evil, it’s just a really rich country.” She finished her plate completely ignoring their scowling at her and Finn theatrically mouthing at Rey “I believe you.”

It was cloudy and crisp, gusts of wind tousling their hair and the tree branches above. The scene was oddly serene, and Rey found herself basking in this unexpected serenity. She had been restless since leaving Romania 10 days ago, now positive that Ben was actively ignoring her. There had been no more lunches, he had bought her no more coffees, and every time she tried to steal a moment with him for any kind of meaningless conversation, he seemed to either be late for some appointment or needing to find Hux or Poe or whoever for urgent administrative purposes. The reason for this remained an enigma, as she was for once unable to find any single argument or insult or offence at her part to have triggered such a reaction.

She mustered all the nonchalance she could before casually launching the question she was aching to ask since being seated at the damn table.

“Hey, have you guys seen Ben? I needed to talk to him about some stuff but I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

Finn shrugged, as blissfully unsuspecting as ever. “Yeah, Poe said he left for Bruxelles directly after the show, we’ll meet up with him there tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She took another bite of hear meal. It felt drier than before.

“What did you want to talk to him about? Anything important?” Rose questioned innocently, making her ashamed of the lie she was about to deliver.

“No, not at all. Just some nonsense about the opening positions.”

_Bruxelles, April_

“I know exactly where we’re going.”

“Rey, you have no idea where you’re going,” Poe sighed while dragging along a completely confused Finn who was turning his Iphone upside down in an attempt to negotiate a rerouting on Waze.

“I have a very good idea where we’re going, just in case anyone cares to hear my opinion,” Hux waved at them from behind, mid-way between irritated and resigned.

“No!” the others chorused in exasperation. Hux’s penchant for pedantic tour guiding had been so annoying they couldn’t care less even if he was right and they ended up in Germany on foot.

“Well it’s the bloody opposite direction,” he sourly grunted nonetheless.

“No, I’m telling you, the train station is straight ahead.”

“It’s actually next to the European Comission, Rey,” her co-lead resignedly informed her. “You know, the big building, lots of flags.”

Rey spun around giving him an alarmed stare. “But that’s the other way around! Oh, don’t look at me like that, like you know where we are right now.”

Poe stared her down. “I do. We’re in Schaerbeek. People get stabbed in Schaerbeek.”

“Oh quit being so dramatic, I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. Look! There’s food over there!”

They all dredged their feet behind her toward an inconspicuous square that hosted a small farmer’s market. The air smelled deliciously like ethnic food, there were food-trucks selling dhal, Hungarian pastry, freshly baked bread and Italian cheese, while locals were huddled around a makeshift bar slurping craft beers and prosecco flutes.

“Place des Chasseurs Ardennais,” Hux read off a plaque. “Never heard of it.”

“Thank God!” “Thank fuck,” Finn and Poe groaned synchronously not even bothering to spare his feelings and keep their voices down.

Half an hour later, bellies full of Pad Thai and bratwurst, they found themselves seated on the sidewalk among various types of alcohol containers, soaking up the sun.

“Ben said he wanted to have dinner with the two of us tonight, go over the schedule for next week,” Poe broke the comfortable silence to speak to Hux over Rey’s head, brutally waking her from her mid-day reverie. She tried not to flinch while tuning into the conversation.

“Yeah, he told me,” the redhead drawled, not bothering to open his eyes. “Where is he anyway? I’ve barely seen him since Luxembourg. Think he’s with Bazine?”

While replaying the moment later in her head, it felt like an eternity had passed before she had properly digested the words, so she couldn’t be sure Poe had indeed taken his time before answering: “Possibly.” What she was sure of, on the other hand, was the inquisitive look he gave her afterwards, something between cautious and concerned with a dash of curiosity.

She had too hard of a time tackling the void in her stomach to think much of it. She clung to Amilyn’s words (“Do not interpret facts according to your fears. The truth is unequivocal therefore simple, do your best to stick to it.”). She did do her best. Bazine was an unusual name. Could have been a guy. His aunt. A business associate. A polar bear he sponsored at the local zoo. She would stick to the facts. Even if the fact was Ben was avoiding her but spending all his spare time with another person. Or polar bear.

_Istanbul, April_

They were rehearsing for the last performance in the Turkish metropolis, which had them all somewhat on edge. The critical reception had been astounding, which both soothed their egos and put extra pressure for an immaculate closing show. They all wanted to get it right. The performance hall buzzed with excitement and anticipation, dancers and crew either stretching, fine-tuning the floor work and sound.

Ben felt reasonably content. His dancers had tapped into his imagined rhythm, the legwork was impeccable and everything fell in place logically and cohesively. The urge to take on a new project was stronger than ever, as it always was when he watched one of his pieces molded to perfection. 

He had just wrapped up going through some finishing touches with the lighting director when he saw Rey advancing towards him with a fierce look that spelled “good luck bailing out this time.” She was sweaty as hell, tank top soaked, her hair tied in a haphazard bun on top of her head, errant strands plastered to her face. She looked human and strong. Beautiful.

He needed to keep his distance from her. Before he could come up with a remotely plausible excuse, she was already speaking.

“Can we talk? It’ll only take a minute ...”

Excuse. Plausible. He had been late for something the last three times. About to go into an urgent Zoom meeting before that. Once he had even faked a hangover. Now, however, his brain refused to find another lie to serve her. He sighed inwardly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you mad at me?”

He tried to keep the many feelings from coursing over his traitorously expressive face. Anger, doubt and hunger at the top, something different and dangerous simmering underneath. Attempting to mask it all under an aggravated expression, he answered tersely.

“Why would I be mad?”

Rey gave him an exasperated stare. “I have absolutely no fucking clue. I’ve given it thought. A lot ... of thought. I have nothing. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

Ok, so clearly he hadn’t been that smooth after all. Yes, he had been avoiding her. Most arduously. The day he admitted what it was he wanted had been his doom. He wanted her. Wanted to fuck her, yes, because she was gorgeous and sassy and well, utterly fuckable, but that wasn’t even the beginning of what he wanted. He wanted to possess her. Be entitled to wipe her sweat off and tuck her hair in and kiss her hands and breathe her in until he would feel her coursing through his bloodstream. Have her paint her nails on his couch when he came home at night, be entitled to punch every man who dared smile at her the wrong way, have a say in what she ate for dinner. Have power over her. Make her need him, long for him. Repeat one word over and over until he would devour, consume, melt into her. _Mine._

He kept looking down at her, searching for words to describe why he was no good for her, until he finally gave up, realizing there were none because the truth wasn’t an answer he could give and a lie was something that would never do her justice.

“On second thoughts,” she spoke again, her words tense and her voice strained, “please don’t say anything because it’ll probably be something hurtful and I’m really done hurting.” 

She was sad, he could feel it through the space between them.

“I know we’re not friends. I know I shouldn’t expect anything from you, let alone your company, although I sometimes felt like you didn’t mind mine.”

_If only you knew ..._

“I only wanted to say that I know something is off and I’d prefer you just told me if I did or said anything to upset you. And if you don’t want to tell me, it’s also fine, just ... know that it wasn’t intentional.”

She was apologizing. He was being the utmost ass on the continent and she was the one making amends. It broke his long damaged heart.

Rey sighed. “I liked talking to you, Ben, even if it was about nothing at all. I’d like that back, when you’re ready.” Her pretty mouth was woefully downturned, making his insides squirm with guilt and pulling him towards the inexorable capitulation he felt in his bones.

“Have you tried the fresh mackerel sandwiches in Eminönü yet?” he asked, for loss of anything better, his voice a bit gruff, his jaw working afterwards in sour disappointment with his incapacity to resist the girl.

It caught her off her guard, but she regained her composure fairly quickly. “I haven’t. What of it?” she still pouted, raising her chin slightly in defiance, unwilling to spare him the discomfort of asking the question. It made him want to kiss that lower lip than bite it and than spank the insolent owner.

“Are you hungry?” he grinded out, then let out a haughty scoff. Might as well attempt to keep an inch of his pride intact. “As if you ever aren’t. Just get changed, I’m buying.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in the chapter
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZf00ad3G6o  
> https://youtu.be/_Zv_lBLU5Vo  
> https://youtu.be/27mqi9-vlBY

_Paris, May_

“I honestly thought I was going to like Paris more,” Rey lamented on the steps of the Bataclan, as she was waiting for Ben to finish answering his long list of emails and head out together, a while after everyone else had left. They had tentatively reestablished their usual routine, albeit to a lesser extent than before, sharing cabs and quick lunches, comfortable in their customary minimalistic conversation.

She pecked on the last crumbles of her salted caramel macaroon. “I mean, of course it impressed me in the dazed, entranced sort of way, but it left me feeling like I was on an endless row of glamorous first dates. I preferred Brussels, all unpretentious and ‘eat straight from the take-out container and don’t bother shaving your legs’ vibe.”

“You haven’t been to the right places,” Ben muttered, not bothering to raise his eyes from his phone.

“Don’t make me check the step counter since we arrived, I have trekked and queued and visited without pause.”

He looked up then, his face torn between sarcasm and amusement. “Yeah, where? Let me guess. The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame plus cruise on the Seine if Finn and Rose planned. Champs-Élysées and Lafayette with Jessika. The Louvre and Opéra Garnier if you joined Hux. Poe might have taken you somewhere nice but he’s been with me for days.”

“Which begs the question, what exactly are you two doing?” Rey asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “It’s becoming suspicious.”

Ben was already typing again. “We’re working on a new piece. It’s going to be something big and different. Needed to get it in shape before tonight, when we intend to break it to the company,” he answered distractedly.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not suspicious at all.”

He ignored her, sighed and finally pocketed his phone. “There. Done. Hopefully that’ll get Hux’ll off my back for the week.”

Finally focusing, he eyed her hesitantly, wondering if what he was about to do was a bad idea. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“In the ...” Rey checked her watch, “four hours we have left until whatever dubious surprise you have cooked up with the other lunatic?”

Ben raised his eyebrows.

“None,” she deadpanned. “Care to share any suggestions?”

“Take a walk with me? We don’t really have time for anything else.”

He waited rather uncomfortably for her answer, not sure if he was hoping for a “yes” or a “no”. It only took one of her honest smiles to get him to momentarily decide. He was rewarded with an affirmative nod and a bit of a jolt to his stomach.

Side by side, he led her along a few inconspicuous streets until they reached a waterway.

“Is this the Seine?”

“It’s the Canal Saint-Martin. Less tourists. Cheaper drinks. We’ll go along it.”

They passed locks, arching footbridges, picturesque cafes and antique shops. Massive chestnut trees lined the water, providing glorious shade from the rare spring sunshine. Dozens of locals were lazing on the banks with improvised picnics and half-empty wine bottles. Some elderly gentlemen were fishing. Others were playing pétanque. The coziness of it all was intoxicating. They strolled along the waterfront, crisscrossing over the elegant iron bridges and watching the barges laboriously passing through the locks.

“You were right,” Rey admitted a bit grudgingly. “This really is nice.”

They walked and walked until the canal widened, making room for floating terraces and péniches. The sun was setting and the light reflected beautifully in the water. A young woman was singing a jazzy, French variety song, accompanied by an accordionist, while the wind swept gently through both their hair.

“Thank you,” she suddenly said in a little voice.

“What for?”

“This. I really liked this.”

“The Paris I know and love is very different from the one in the guidebooks. I was here a lot when I was younger, because of my mother. Always had a local au-pair. They even taught me to speak decent French. Ask me next time, there are so many places you’d like. The Haut Marais, Belleville, the 20th arrondissement ....”

“I think I’d like it better if you showed me yourself.” The words took Ben by surprise, and he waited for what seemed like an eternity until she met his gaze, as if she herself couldn’t believe her nerve. Heat flooded his chest and he realized, in horror, that the adamant precautions and reservations so firmly screaming out in his head were no match for it. He had only ever considered the possibility that his feelings were one-sided. He had no time to reflect on what it would mean if they weren’t.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “We’ll see.” His voice came out huskier than he intended, like a low growl, and he purposely pinned her down with a penetrating stare, trying to see what else he might be able to provoke.

She blushed then, actually and truly blushed, color delightfully spreading along her cheeks and neckline, but averted her eyes sheepishly. She quickly found a way to change the subject.

“So where are we going tonight?”

Ben silently cursed the loss of the moment and made a half-hearted effort to snap back to reality.

“See a concert.”

“Really? All of us? Who’s playing?”

“I’m not going to tell you that,” he retorted with a smirk. “If Poe managed to keep his obnoxious mouth shut and avoid briefing Finn, there’s no way in hell I’m taking the beating for telling you before everyone else.”

He heard her mumble something along the lines of “ridiculous”.

“What I can tell you is that it’ll be kind of a test run. The artist is someone whose music we intend use for the next piece, but it’s somewhat ... unconventional.”

She eyed him unbelievingly.

“ _Aurora_ was danced to an electroacustic score. You used a gospel choir for _Judas_. What could you possibly consider unconventional?”

***

“You have gotta be fucking joking, you want us to dance to fucking Goran Bregovič?” Finn shouted over the raucous brass tunes that had already sent the crowd in a rage.

Ben and Poe exchanged exasperated looks and turned to the others to gauge their reaction. They were in the Golden circle, close enough to the stage to feel the sound in their guts. No less than forty people made up the orchestra whose manic tempo and the roaring singing were both electrifying and frankly a little scary, although nothing compared to the energy rolling off of the audience. 

Phasma seemed uncharacteristically unfazed for her usually imperturbable countenance. “I guess it depends on what songs you choose,” she finally spoke, her mouth setting in a thin line that accentuated her sculpted features.

At her side, BB was in an exhilarated fervor, overtly excited to take on the challenge: “It’ll be unbelievable. Ludicrously fun.”

Jessika appeared hesitant, clearly considering the complications but still swinging from one foot to the other to the beat of the music.

Rey was both silent and still on the other hand. Ben waited patiently for her reaction; after all it was her opinion he was most interested about. “I think I see what you have in mind,” she said, not taking her eyes from the orchestra. “I know a bit about his music, I once had a roommate who was a fan.”

“And?” he pressed.

“I imagine you’ll want to use _Ederlezi_.” He hummed in approval. “ _In the Death Car_ , the one with Iggy Pop.”

“Correct. _Mesecina_ , the one from ...” “ _Underground_ , I know.”

“Those are the mainstream ones, we’ll have to listen to the rest of his albums to choose. We have a lot of ideas but we’re going to want everyone’s input since it’s all rather difficult to stomach. We’ll have to do workshops again.”

“We’ll work it out.”

“You agree, then.”

“It’ll be a handful,” she sighed, “but yes. I actually think you might be able to pull it off.”

He found the veiled compliment rather soothed him.

“We’ll talk it over with everyone tonight, have a vote. If they say yes, Poe, Hux and I have a meeting scheduled with him and his legal team tomorrow to negotiate rights.”

“This is ... really ambitious, Ben. Even by your standards.”

A melodious, haunting tune came up, accompanied by a choir of Roma singers. The vocalist was an older woman, dressed in a traditional Balkan costume, whose voice sent shivers down Ben’s spine. Rey closed her eyes and tilted her head to one side, exposing her slender neck.

“What can I do?” he asked as suggestively as he could, not taking his eyes from her. “I have really high standards.”

He felt her fidget next to him, almost certain she had understood.

***

Lunch next day found them together once again, in comfortable silence, sifting through Moroccan pastries, luxurious olives and fresh fruit at the Marché des Enfants Rouges.

After a while, Rey realized she had lost Ben in the maze of stalls, just as a glorious oyster display caught her eye. She eyed them curiously, wanting a taste but knowing nothing about neither oysters nor how to engage the obviously non-English speaking vendor, an elderly gentlemen with an impressively large belly, she kind of hovered in front.

“Je préfère celle-là, le parfum est ... extraordinaire,” was spoken very close to her left shoulder. She turned to see a handsome man, probably in his early forties, in an impeccably tailored suit and smelling faintly of cologne, who was smirking at her with a provocative expression.

“Oh, sorry but my French is really, really poor.”

“You are American, what a nice surprise,” he spoke in a thick French accent. “Are you in Paris for work or pleasure?”

“Work mainly. Luckily the pleasure somehow came.” She smiled more to herself, remembering the catalyst of said pleasure was somewhere nearby.

“Tant mieux, alors,” he drawled, with impressive self-assurance. “Would you like to see more of the neigbourhood perhaps?”

“En fait, on est assez pressés,” she heard Ben’s low voice intervening in what sounded like surprisingly good French, even to her untrained ears.

Her admirer seemed disappointed but graciously lifted his hands in surrender. “Quel dommage ... Well, it was my pleasure.”

She bit her lip to suppress a smile at the thought of Ben having territorial instincts towards her, gently squeezing her hand through the crook of his elbow and led him away. It seemed to mollify whatever criminal thoughts bubbled behind his slightly narrowed eyes.

“You scared away my suitor,” Rey teased, not in the least disappointed. 

“I don’t like how the French treat their women. Especially those who have wedding rings on their finger.” That had definitely skipped her notice. Still felt good that he took it upon himself to intervene. She had been horrified at her own gall the day before, when she had under no uncertain terms basically flirted with Ben Solo. To make matters worse, the look he gave her might as well have been filed under “flirting back.” She wondered what she was getting herself into.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ben came to a sudden halt in front of a tall dark-skinned woman who was studying them curiously. She had long, perfectly sleek hair, was elegantly dressed and clutching what looked like an obscenely expensive handbag. 

She felt Ben perceptibly tensing next to her, and when he finally found his voice, it had a rather grim quality to it.

“Hello Bazine.”

Rey’s breath caught in her throat. So that settles that.

“I can’t say I was expecting to see you. You haven’t met Rey Kenobi, my lead dancer for the season.” He gestured vaguely in her direction. “Rey, this is Bazine Netal, a friend of mine.”

Of course she was.

“She works with NATO in Brussels.”

Of course she did.

“How lovely to finally meet Ben’s most prized possession. He talks an awful lot about you these days,” Bazine spoke in a sweet voice, smiling faintly.

“I didn’t know you were coming to Paris,” he cut her off. She seemed unperturbed.

“I’m here for the peace summit. I met Poe at the hotel, he told me I could find you here. I thought I’d surprise you, maybe borrow you for some ... coffee, before you leave.”

She then dropped her gaze towards their still intertwined hands, raising both her eyebrows as she made eye contact again.

“But perhaps it was ... a bad surprise?”

“No, I was actually just leaving,” Rey quickly said, extracting her arm and taking a step to the side, putting as much distance between them as possible. “A charming adulterous gentleman back at the shellfish stand was just offering to show me around, so I’ll go take him up on that before he finds another American to woo.”

She fought back the tears that were threatening to flood her eyes, refusing to let her dignity take any further beating. “What time’s our flight to London? 8 PM right?”

Ben grimly nodded.

“Guess I also have time for _coffee_ then. Nice meeting you, Bazine. I’ll see you at the airport.”

As she walked away, she could still hear their voices slowly fading.

“So did I interrupt something?”

“Let’s just go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je préfère celle-là, le parfum est ... extraordinaire – I prefer that one, the aroma is extraordinary.
> 
> Tant mieux, alors – All the better, then.
> 
> En fait, on est assez pressés – Actually, we’re rather in a hurry.
> 
> Quel dommage – What a shame.


	20. Chapter 20

_London, May_

A clock was ticking somewhere close, each tick-tok that resounded in the hotel corridor feeling like nails in his coffin. Ben was tense as he hurriedly passed door after door, looking for the right room. The one he truly didn’t want to go into. The key he had extorted from the front desk felt heavy in his hand, much like his heart had been when Poe had called. 

Rey hadn’t shown up for morning rehearsal. Nor was she answering her phone. Finn and Rose had left together after breakfast, not bothering to wait for her out of conviction that she was sharing a ride with Ben; Jessika and BB hadn’t seen her since getting off the plane the night before. Hux mentioned catching a glimpse of her checking in late, looking “rather disheveled” and had decided to leave her to her own resorts. The hotel clerk was positive she had never left the room after that.

They had pointedly decided not to make a scene and since Ben was the only one still at the hotel, courtesy of follow-up conference calls with Paris, he was the one to discreetly but swiftly investigate.

The two of them hadn’t spoken after their run-in with Bazine, and he was certain about two things. That she had been deeply bothered by it, but also that it was not the reason for locking herself in.

Once in front of the right door, he wasted no time bracing himself and knocked three times, as firmly as possible without actually resorting to banging. There was no answer. No movement on the other side. Dread began creeping up his spine. Was it possible she had actually hurt herself? Had they missed the signs?

He mustered all his courage and used the key, dismissing every horror that passed through his head, desperately clinging to the hope that he would find her oversleeping in her bed.

As he walked in and closed the door behind him, it became clear it was not the case.

The room was grim, afternoon light creeping through the closed drapes. The bed was unmade. Her bags unpacked. The air was heavy with alcohol.

She was crouched in a fetal position on the edge of the bed, one arm dangling over the side, close to where two bottles of scotch sat, one empty and one half full.

He closed the distance in a heartbeat and let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding when her vision focused and she made eye contact. It was honestly impressive she was still conscious. He wondered if he needed to take her to a hospital. It surprised him to hear her speak, her words slurred and her voice coarse.

“Just so we’re clear ... this has _nothing_ to do with you.” 

“Far from me to be so presuming,” he drawled. “I was right however, wasn’t I?”

“But you’re always right about everything aren’t you, Ben Solo?” She smiled bitterly, leaning down to reach for another swig of booze. “And what was it you were so right about this time?”

He used his foot to push the bottle out of her reach. “It was London.”

“It was London, it is London ... there will always be London ...”

“You went to the Royal Ballet School.”

He took her humorless laugh for confirmation.

“You also thought it would be good idea to mix a gallon of alcohol with prescription pills. In the span of 18 hours. Because of being back in London. Where someone once hurt you.”

“I’m not on pills anymore,” she sidetracked. “I figured six months should wrap it up.” She reached for the bottle again and he repeated the gesture, pushing it further away.

“I am however very, very drunk. I am literally one sip away from throwing up all over your pretty shoes. You have really big feet did you know that?”

“Rey ...”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.

“Then don’t.” He came even closer until he towered over her, shot her a menacing glare, then sort of collapsed to sit on the floor, his back reclining on the side of the bed next to her.

“I’ll talk. And I’m finishing this,” he added, grabbing her precious bottle.

“There was once a young boy whose parents travelled a lot. He was awkward, had big ears and no friends. He was twelve when he decided he wanted to be a professional dancer. Needless to say it was a disappointing career choice for his parents, both extremely passionate about their own serious professions. His mother was never around long enough to really take him seriously so she just assumed he would grow out of it, but the boy’s father was a military pilot. He had fought in two wars. He had received medals. He could have gotten past his son skipping West Point to go to law school or pre-med but dancing was ... well it was shameful for him.”

“They never got over it, even when the boy, who had now turned into a young man, got into Juilliard on full scholarship and was objectively, on any given scale, very good at what he did. It was not something his father could understand, so he treated his son like an oddity. Always avoided him because he didn’t know how to relate to someone so different. The young man was heart-broken. Then he was angry. Then he met Leonard Snoke. Someone who could be very charming when he took interest in something and this was an instance when he was deeply interested. Whenever he watched the young man dance, it made him feel like he was being seen for the first time in his life. They started to see each other often. They spoke at length, about dancing and art and music and life. He taught the young man about human nature and power. Snoke made him believe he was someone truly special. Then he told him he could be so much more. That he could have so much more. Power. Fame. The audience in the palm of his hand. He encouraged him to leave Juilliard to join his own company but the young man was still afraid to take the plunge.” 

“Then one day, his uncle, one Luke Skywalker, an artistic soul himself as I’m sure you’ve noticed, the only remaining member of the family the young man still engaged with out of shared passion, got wind of this friendship. When they next met, he berated his nephew for lacking principle and common sense and wasting his time and talent on scum like Snoke. He called him foolish and spineless. He told him he would be used until worse for wear and than become redundant. At this, the young man snapped. He broke every mirror in the main rehearsal studio at Juilliard after which he left without even emptying his dorm room.”

“He went directly to Snoke, who welcomed him with open arms into the First Order. This is the story of how Kylo Ren came to be. I won’t tell you about the years that followed but as you know fairy-tales have an expiration date in real life. What I want to remind you is that this life, the one we chose, at the top, is almost never pretty. Very rarely happy.”

“I thought I was happy,” she spluttered. “Then I stepped out of the plane. I saw the sign that said ‘Welcome to London’. I had a panic attack in the toilet. Got wasted in the airport bar before being able to set foot outside. Bought these in the duty-free. I’ve successfully managed to stay drunk since then.”

“Do you remember the night before leaving Rome?”

She considered it for a while. “Yeah, it was the first leg of the tour,” she finally slurred. “We all went out for karaoke to celebrate.” She hesitated before continuing. “You weren’t there ... Poe said you were catching up with a friend.”

“I was actually drinking myself into a stupor. It was the anniversary of my dad’s death.”

“Ben ...” she began in a soft voice but he cut her off.

“Five years after joining the First Order, long after things had gotten really bad for the young man, now not so young any more, Snoke introduced him to Sheev Palpatine.”

“I’ve heard that name before ... Isn’t he someone famous?”

“Had you been interested in politics you would have known that today he is the vice-president of the United States. But he was just a senator back then. One very opposed to environmental regulations for fuel-producing companies, policies Leia Organa was the head poster for at the time. The three of them met a few times, Palpatine turning out to be very intimately connected with Snoke in a number of areas. One day, during such a meeting, a proposition was made. The young man was given a file containing an affidavit. He realized he was being offered an impressive sum of money in exchange for publicly accusing his mother of child abuse and neglect. He was given until morning to decide.”

“He was in a bad place at the time, which later made him wonder how much of Snoke’s leading him into that direction had been due to his political rather than his artistic usefulness. He got into his car and drove out of the city, without a destination, and considered. Part of him wanted to do it, as it meant breaking the last link he had with his family and getting his revenge for the manner in which he had been treated. Then he realized that for whatever it was worth, the First Order had managed to turn him into a monster, but not a liar. It would have been his complete surrender and submission.”

“He decided two things. One, that he couldn’t do it. Two, that his refusal came from his need to protect not his mother, but what little was left of himself. He kept on driving until he ran out of fuel. Then he made a call to a number he hadn’t dialed in years but still knew by heart, from a public phone in the middle of nowhere and waited for his father to come pick him up. On their drive back to New York, the young man confessed everything. They started fighting. His father called him a coward. A lap dog. A tool. They both got very mad. He accused his father of being a pitiful parent. Of discarding his only child like a broken toy. They were too busy shouting at each other to notice the truck that had crossed over the lane from the opposite direction. The driver was drunk. They crashed head-on.”

She stood up then, slowly slid down next to him and took his hand in hers. It was ridiculously tiny in comparison, but it felt warm and alive.

“They told me he died on impact,” Ben continued, taking another swig from the now almost empty bottle and avoiding looking at her. He couldn’t have bore seeing pity in her eyes. “I thought I would die of guilt. Of shame. I hoped I would. But death never came. Neither did redemption.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ben,” she quietly spoke. “And you didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

“I made my peace with it, in a way. When they told me I would be lucky if I would ever be able to walk again, let alone dance, I laughed. It seemed poetic to lose the one thing I had ever been good at on the same night I lost a parent I had never been good enough for. But the days passed. Poe was there. Life somehow slogged on, bleak and empty, until one day I found something that had meaning. Something else I could be good at. Some good I could do for this world. So I did it. And life somehow jumpstarted, turning into something not necessarily happy, but happening. Something in between, so maybe one day there will be happiness in it too.”

“So I shouldn’t wish for death? I should have hope that one day it’ll hurt less?” she asked, slowly closing her eyes. He could taste the misery radiating from her.

“It does hurt less, Rey. I see it every day while I watch you dance. You still feel your pain, the one you so stubbornly refuse to share with anyone, but you also feel passion. Purpose. Meaning.” He sighed. “You just need to keep your head above water until a lifeboat passes by.”

They remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, she removed her hand and placed it on her knees.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

No clarification was needed as to whom she was referring to. He knew it might come to this. He looked at her and told the truth. “I am.”

She clenched her hands into fists and pressed them to her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, I am the stupidest person that ever walked the face of the earth.”

So he had been right again. She had been jealous of Bazine. Which introduced a new variable to his predicament. Jealousy translated into something else. It meant that she was more interested than he had gauged. Pride mixed with relief, then fear and then arousal, and finally doubt. He couldn’t tell how much of her reaction was the alcohol taking. He decided to buy some time to try and sort every feeling back into its own little box.

“Why? Because as usual you draw rash and probably wrong conclusions based on limited facts? Or because you asked a question you didn’t want to hear the answer to?”

“Yeah, yeah, how rude of me to pry. Except I’m really, exceptionally drunk. Have I already told you how drunk I am? I have no manners.”

She laughed that scary, crazed laugh again, the one he found terribly unnerving.

“You could have mentioned it, you know, dropped her name in random conversations, I promise I would’ve gotten the hint. Avoided the fact that until yesterday, I had no _fucking_ idea you weren’t single.”

“I _am_ single, Rey,” he answered a bit too forcefully, realising he really didn’t want to fight with her this time. “Did you expect me to be celibate as well?” he added in a softer tone. 

“Everyone needs sex, yourself included. But while you choose to engage in it more casually and, might I remind you, made sure to shove it in my face on several occasions, I am in a point in my life where I find it easier to have it sporadically with the same person, no strings attached. Our arrangement is convenient and simple. Unassuming.”

He shook his head tiredly.

“I don’t have an appetite for one-night stands anymore and I haven’t met anyone I wanted to engage with on a deeper level.”

Then he looked at her, all drunk and unkempt, pitifully slouched on the floor next to him, drowned in her wretchedness, and he could still see her light radiating off her. He knew he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Or so I though,” he added in a gruff voice.

She looked up then, cautiously, a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and questioning. He kept her gaze, not wanting to let go for fear that she would run away. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I feel it too.”

She let out a small sigh, her features relaxing slightly while her eyes roamed over his face, searching. He felt her hand tentatively grazing his cheek and he found himself melting into her touch. Her eyes dropped to his lips, her own parting infinitesimally, waiting. Asking.

“No.” He turned his head slowly, nuzzling her palm with the tip of his nose, then placed a small kiss into it, before pulling away. “If I were to kiss you sometime, Rey, I’d very much want you to remember it. But even if you were sober, it wouldn’t change anything. We’re not on an equal footing here. You work for me, you’re ten years younger, the power balance here isn’t right.”

She looked disappointed, but didn’t press. “So now what?”

“You go clean yourself up, I open the windows and order something for you to eat. You promise me you’re done with drinking until we get to New York in three days. You do what you came here to do, even if it means you do nothing more than go from this room to the theatre and back until we leave. You talk about it if you want to. Or you don’t. You move on.”

Rey stared him down with determination. “I was talking about us.”

“You’re not in a good state of mind to judge this correctly right now. You should think about it later, back home. It’ll give you ... perspective.”

“I don’t want perspective,” she shot back rather petulantly.

He gave her a ferocious look. “Than what do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

Her voice was so low it sent shivers down his spine and towards other, more uninhibited parts of his body. Ben deflected with a sad, self-deprecating smile. “I wonder if you’ll want the same without the scotch.”

“And if I do?”

He eyed her circumspectly, not sure if he believed her or not. “Then I’ll have something to think about as well.”


End file.
